A  VENETIAN  JUN 


GIFT  OF 
THOMAS  RUTHERFORD  BACOfc 


RARV 


7l*K*+< 


BY     ANNA     FULLER, 
pratt  portraits. 

Sketched  in  a  New  England  Suburb.  Ninth 
edition,  16",  paper,  50  cts. ;  cloth,  $1.00 

B  2Literar£  Courtsbip. 

Under  the  Auspices  of  Tike's  Peak.  Thir 
teenth  edition.  Illustrated.  18°.  |i.oo 

peafe  anD  prairie. 

From  a  Colorado  Sketch-Book.  Third  edi 
tion  uniform  with  "  A  Literary  Court 
ship,"  with  frontispiece.  18°  .  $1.00 

B  Venetian  5une. 

Uniform  with  "A  Literary  Courtship," 
illustrated  by  George  Sloane.  18°.  $1.00 


G.  T.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


Ube  Salute 


H  Venetian 


Bmta  jfuller 


AUTHOR  OF    "PRATT   PORTRAITS,"   "A    LITERARY  COURTSH1 
ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  GKORGE  SLOAN'E 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW   YORK  LONDON 

27  West  Twenty-third  Street  24  Bedford  Street,  Strand 

Ube  Ikmcfccrbocher  press 

1896 


TO 

ELENA 


272559 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.— VENICE         ........  i 

II.— A  VENETIAN  THOROUGHFARE               .        .  10 

III.— A  PAIR  OF  POLLYS    ......  21 

IV.— A  REVERIE 33 

V.— THE  SIGNORA     .......  43 

VI.— A  FESTA 58 

VII.  -  GATHERING  POPPIES 82 

VIII.— THE  PULSE  OF  THE  SEA  ...  .104 

IX.— BY-WAYS  OF  VENICE        .....  125 

X.— A  BENEDICTION 140 

XI.— AT  TORCELLO     „ 159 

XII.— A  PROMOTION 174 

XIII.— ILLUMINATIONS 193 

XIV.— A  SUMMER'S  DAY 215 

XV.— JUNE  ROSES        ,..,...  235 

XVI.— A  SURRENDER    .......  249 

XVII.— THE  SERENATA         ......  265 

XVIII.— SEARCH-L/IGHTS 281 

XIX. — "  DECUS  ET  PRAESIDIUM  "    .                        .  297 


B  Venetian  $une 


ing  walls  and  under  low  arched  bridges, 
— as  the  deep  resonant  cry  of  the  gondo 
lier  rang  out,  and  an  answer  came  like  an 
echo  from  the  hidden  recesses  of  a  mys 
terious  watery  crossway,  the  spirit  of 
Venice  drew  near  to  the  three  travellers, 
in  whose  minds  its  strange  and  exquisite 
suggestion  was  received  with  varying 
susceptibility. 

To  Pauline  Beverly,  sitting  enthroned 
among  the  gondola  cushions,  this  was 
the  fulfilment  of  a  dream,  and  she  ac 
cepted  it  with  unquestioning  delight ;  her 
sister  May,  at  the  bar  of  whose  youthful 
judgment  each  wonder  of  Europe  was  in 
turn  a  petitioner  for  approval,  bestowed 
a  far  more  critical  attention  upon  the 
time-worn  palaces  and  the  darkly  doubt 
ful  water  at  their  base  ;  while  to  Uncle 
Dan,  sitting  stiffly  upright  upon  the  little 
one-armed  chair  in  front  of  them,  Venice, 
though  a  regularly  recurrent  experience, 
was  also  a  memory, — a  memory  fraught 
with  some  sort  of  emotion,  if  one  might 
judge  by  the  severe  indifference  which 


Denice !  3 

the  old  soldier  brought  to  bear  upon  the 
situation. 

Colonel  Steele  was  never  effusive,  yet  a 
careful  observer  might  have  detected  in 
his  voice  and  manner  as  he  gave  his  or 
ders  to  the  gondolier,  the  peculiar  cut- 
and-dried  quality  which  he  affected  when 
he  was  afraid  of  being  found  out.  Care 
ful  observers  are,  however,  rare,  and  we 
may  be  sure  that  on  their  first  day  in 
Venice  his  two  companions  had  other 
things  to  think  of  than  the  unobtrusive 
moods  of  a  life-long  uncle. 

Suddenly  the  gondola  swung  out  again 
upon  the  Grand  Canal,  a  little  below  the 
Rialto  bridge,  and  again  all  was  light 
and  life  and  movement.  Steamboats  plied 
up  and  down  with  a  great  puffing  and 
snorting  and  a  swashing  about  of  the 
water,  gondolas  and  smaller  craft  rising 
and  falling  upon  their  heaving  wake  ; 
heavily  laden  barges,  propelled  by  long- 
poles  whose  wielders  walked  with  bare 
brown  feet  up  and  down  the  gunwale  in 
the  performance  of  their  labor,  progressed 


tPerietfan 


slowly  and  stolidly,  never  yielding  an 
inch  in  their  course  to  the  importunities 
of  shouting  gondolier  or  shrieking  steam- 
whistle.  Here  the  light  shell  of  a  yellow 
sandolo  .shot  by,  there  a  black-hooded 
gondola  crept  in  and  out  among  the 
more  impetuous  water-folk.  Over  yon 
der  the  stars-and-stripes  floated  from  a 
slim  black  prow,  a  frank,  out-spoken 
note  of  color  that  had  its  own  part  to  play 
among  the  quieter  yet  richer  hues  of  the 
scene.  It  was  like  an  instantaneous 
transition  from  twilight  to  broad  day, 
from  the  remote  past  to  the  busy  present, 
whose  children,  even  in  Venice,  must  be 
fed  and  clothed  and  transported  from 
place  to  place. 

"Yes,  that  is  the  Rialto,"  said  Uncle 
Dan,  rousing  to  the  contemplation  of  a 
good  substantial  fact.  "  It 's  everywhere 
in  Venice.  You  're  always  coining  out 
upon  it,  especially  when  you  have  been 
rowing  straight  away  from  it." 

"  What  a  pity  it  should  be  all  built 
over  on  top  ! ' '  said  May,  knitting  her 


IDenice !  5 

smooth  young  brow,  as  if,  forsooth, 
wrinkles  did  not  come  fast  enough  with 
out  the  aid  of  any  gratuitous  concern  for 
the  taste  of  a  bygone  century. 

"  But  just  look  at  the  glorious  arch  of 
it  underneath  !  "  cried  Pauline.  "  Who 
cares  what  is  on  top  ?  And  besides,"  she 
declared,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  "  I 
like  it  all  !" 

' '  Has  Venice  changed  much,  Uncle 
Dan  ? ' '  asked  May. 

"  Venice  ?  "  Uncle  Dan  replied.  "  Ve 
nice  doesn't  change.  It's  the  rest  of 
us  that  do  that  !  "  —  and  just  at  that  mo 
ment  the  gondola  turned  out  of  the 
Grand  Canal  into  another  narrow,  shad 
owy  water-way.  Here  and  there,  above 
the  dark  current,  a  bit  of  color  caught 
the  eye  ;  a  pot  of  geranium  on  a  window- 
ledge  ;  a  pair  of  wooden  shutters  painted 
pink  ;  a  blue  apron  hung  out  to  dry.  On 
a  stone  bridge,  leaning  against  the  iron 
railing,  stood  a  woman  in  a  sulphur  shawl, 
gazing  idly  at  the  approaching  gondola. 
Scarlet,  pink,  blue,  sulphur ; — how  these 


B  \Denetian  $une 


unrelated  bits  of  color  were  blended  and 
absorbed  in  the  pure  poetry  of  the  pic 
ture  ! 

"  How  wonderful  it  is,  when  things 
come  true ! ' '  Pauline  exclaimed.  ' '  Things 
you  have  dreamed  of  all  your  life,  till 
they  have  come  to  seem  less  real  than  the 
things  you  never  dreamed  of  at  all  !  I 
think  I  must  have  known  that  that  wo 
man  in  the  sulphur  shawl  would  be  stand 
ing  on  that  bridge,  gazing  upon  us  with 
her  great  tragic  eyes  ;  so  that  somehow 
it  seems  as  if  she  might  have  been  a 
mere  apparition." 

"  I  think  it  very  likely,  for  I  am  sure 
she  has  always  been  there  when  I  have 
passed,"  said  Uncle  Dan,  with  conviction. 

"I  didn't  see  anything  tragic  about 
her  eyes,"  May  objected.  "I  thought 
she  looked  rather  stupid,  as  if  she  had 
forgotten  what  she  came  out  for. ' ' 

"  Which  was  probably  the  case,"  Un 
cle  Dan  admitted.  Whence  it  will  be 
seen  that  Uncle  Dan,  gallant  officer  in 
the  past  and  practical  man  of  affairs  to- 


IDenice !  7 

day,  was  as  wax  in  the  hands  of  his 
nieces,  equally  ready  to  agree  with 
each. 

Yet  Colonel  Steele  had  not  the  appear 
ance  of  a  man  of  wax.  On  the  contrary, 
his  spare,  wiry  figure  was  full  of  vigor, 
his  glance  was  as  keen  and  his  speech  as 
imperative  as  that  of  the  veriest  martinet. 
He  had  commanded  men  in  his  day  ;  he 
had  fought  the  stern  persistent  fight  of  a 
good  soldier,  and  if,  when  the  great  cause 
was  won,  he  had  hung  up  his  sword  and 
sash  and  laid  aside  his  uniform,  he  had 
yet  never  succeeded  in  looking  the  civil 
ian,  and  his  military  title  had  clung  to 
him  through  thirty  years  of  practical  life. 
Furthermore,  if  it  must  be  admitted  that 
he  looked  somewhat  older  than  his  sixty 
years,  that  fact  was  not  to  be  accounted 
for  by  any  acknowledged  infirmity,  un 
less,  indeed,  the  stiff  leg  he  had  brought 
with  him  from  his  four  years'  service 
should  be  reckoned  as  such. 

"  But  you  like  it,  May  ?  " 

It  was  Pauline  who  asked,  and  she  put 


8  B  Venetian  June 

the  question  as  if  she  valued  her  sister's 
opinion. 

"Yes,"  May  answered,  in  her  most 
judicial  manner;  "I  like  it.  As  you 
say,  it  is  very  much  what  one  expected. 
But  of  course  it  is  rather  early  to  judge 
yet." 

As  if  to  refute  this  cautious  statement, 
the  gondola  quietly  glided  out  again  upon 
the  Grand  Canal,  in  full  face  of  a  great 
white  dome,  rising  superbly  from  a  sculp 
tured  marble  octagon  against  a  radiant 
sky.  Sky  and  dome  and  sculptured  fig 
ure,  each  cast  its  image  deep  down  in  the 
tranquil  waters  at  its  base,  where,  as  it 
chanced,  no  passing  barge  or  steamboat 
was  shivering  it  to  fragments. 

"Ah!"  said  Pauline,  with  inarticu 
late  eloquence. 

"That  is  the  Salute,"  Uncle  Dan  re 
marked  ;  while  May  wondered  how  she 
liked  it. 

Half-a-dozen  strokes  of  the  oar  brought 
them  in  among  the  tall,  shielding  posts, 
close  alongside  the  steps  of  the  Venezia. 


Venice  ! 


As  the  hotel  porter  handed  the  young 
ladies  from  the  gondola,  the  Colonel 
paused  to  have  a  word  with  the  gondo 
lier.  The  man  was  standing,  hat  in 
hand,  keeping  the  oar  in  gentle  motion 
to  counteract  the  force  of  the  tide,  which 
was  setting  strongly  seaward. 

"  Si,  Signore  !  "   he  answered. 

"Why!"  May  exclaimed,  "I  had 
forgotten  all  about  the  man  ! ' ' 


If,    B  Venetian 
ftborougbfare. 

; ' '  'TTO  the  bankers',  Vitto 
|     **     rio." 

"Si,  Signore.  Will  the 
Signore  go  by  the  Grand 
Canal?" 

"By  all  means.  And 
~~~  don't  hurry.  There  is 
"plenty  of  time." 

"Si,  Signore  !  The  bank 
will  wait  ! ' ' 

The  little  jest  fell  as  soothingly  familiar 
upon  the  ear  of  Vittorio's  one  passenger 
as  the  dip  of  the  oar  or  the  bell  of  San 
Giorgio  Maggiore  sounding  across  the 
harmonizing  water  spaces.  And  yet  the 
10 


Venetian  Gborousbf  are          n 


Colonel  was  only  half  aware  that  every 
word,  every  inflection  of  the  little  dia 
logue  had  passed  between  them  on  just 
such  an  afternoon  in  May  five  years  ago, 
and  again  five  years  before  that,  if  the 
truth  must  be  told. 

They  were  passing  the  charming  little 
Gothic  palace  known  as  the  House  of 
Desdemona,  and  we  may  be  pretty  sure 
that  the  two  little  stone  girls  that  keep 
watch  there  upon  the  corners  of  the  bal 
cony  railing,  were  reminded  by  these 
words  that  another  lustre  had  slipped  by 
since  last  they  heard  them.  If  they  were 
as  observant  as  they  should  have  been, 
considering  that  they  had  nothing  to 
occupy  them  but  the  use  of  their  eyes  and 
ears,  they  must  have  noted  the  fact  that 
while  the  soldierly  figure  of  the  old  gen 
tleman  had  not  grown  a  whit  less  erect, 
the  many  wrinkles  upon  his  clean-cut 
countenance  were  perceptibly  deepened 
in  the  interval.  A  curious  effect  of  years, 
those  hard-headed  little  images  must 
have  thought.  They  could  perceive  no 


12  B  Venetian  June 


such  change  in  one  another's  counte 
nances,  though  they  had  witnessed  the 
passage  of  several  centuries.  But  then, 
the  little  stone  girls  had  one  marked 
advantage  over  people  of  flesh  and  blood, 
for  they  stopped  short  off  at  the  shoulders. 
Their  creator  having  made  no  provision 
for  a  heart  in  their  constitutions,  they 
could  never  grow  old, — any  more  than 
they  could  ever  have  been  truly  young. 
The  tide  was  still  going  out,  and  the 
gondola  moved  very  slowly  up-stream. 
The  Colonel  was  silent,  as  he  had  been 
silent  during  the  passage  of  this  particu 
lar  part  of  the  Canal  once  in  five  years 
since  ever  so  long  ago.  Presently  the 
gondola,  in  its  leisurely  progress  came 
opposite  a  pretty  old  palace  with  charm 
ing  rose  windows  to  give  it  distinction. 
There  were  flower-boxes  in  the  balcony, 
and  other  signs  of  habitation,  and  the 
Colonel,  quite  as  if  he  were  rousing  from 
a  reverie,  and  casting  about  for  some 
thing  to  say,  turned  half-way  toward  the 
gondolier  and  asked:  "The  Signora 
Daymond,  is  she  here  this  season  ? ' ' 


B  tDenetian  tTborousbfare  13 

"Si,  Signore  ;  and  her  Signer  son  is 
also  in  Venice." 

This  last  statement  formed  a  new  de 
parture,  the  "Signer  son"  having  been 
absent  on  the  occasion  of  the  Colonel's 
more  recent  visits.  The  announcement 
excited  in  him  a  curious  and  quite  un 
founded  resentment.  Indeed,  so  disturb 
ing  was  it,  not  because  of  any  inherent 
objectionableness,  but  because  of  its  im 
plication  of  a  change,  that  the  Colonel 
found  himself  quite  thrown  out  of  his 
accustomed  line  of  procedure.  That  this 
was  the  case  was  made  manifest  by  the 
fact  that  he  did  not  adhere  so  far  to 
established  precedent  as  to  wait  until 
after  they  had  passed  under  the  iron 
bridge  before  looking  quite  round  into 
Vittorio's  face  and  asking  :  "  All  is  well 
at  the  little  red  house  ?  The  wife  and 
the  children?  " 

"All  well,  Signore  ;  only  the  mother 
died  last  winter." 

' '  Your  wife's  mother,  I  think  it  was  ?  ' ' 
"Si,  Signore  ;  she  died  in  February." 
One  less  mouth  to  feed,  the  Colonel 


14  B  Venetian  5une 


thought  to  himself;  and  perhaps  the 
thought  was  apparent  to  the  quick  per 
ception  of  the  gondolier,  although  the 
padrone  only  remarked  :  "  An  old  woman 
she  must  have  been." 

For  Vittorio's  face  grew  wistful,  and 
there  was  a  tone  of  gentle  reproach  in  his 
voice,  as  he  said  :  ' '  We  should  like  well 
to  have  the  mother  with  us  again." 

4 'Of  course,  of  course!"  the  Colonel 
assented,  eager  to  disclaim  his  unspoken 
disloyalty.  ' '  And  Nanni  ?  What  do  you 
hear  from  him?  " 

He  is  paying  us  a  visit,  the  first  in 
three  years.  He  does  not  forget  the  old 
life,  and  when  the  Milan  doctors  told  him 
he  must  take  a  long  rest,  that  he  needed 
a  change,  he  said  :  '  I  know  it ;  I  need  to 
feel  an  oar  in  my  hand  and  the  leap  of 
the  gondola  under  my  feet.'  " 

1 '  And  does  he  row  ? ' ' 

"  Si,  Signore.  He  has  an  old  tub  of  a 
gondola  and  he  paddles  about  in  it  all 
day  long  and  is  content  as  the  king. 
More  content,  for  he  is  doing  what  he 


Venetian  Gborougbfare  15 


pleases,  and  the  king, — it  is  said  that  he 
cannot  always  do  as  he  pleases.  If  he 
could  we  should  be  better  governed." 

A  puzzled  scowl  contracted  the  fine 
open  brow  of  the  gondolier.  That  a 
king  should  not  do  as  he  pleased  was  as 
puzzling  as  it  was  grievous. 

"  He  is  doing  well,  Nanni  ?  " 

"Si,  Sign  ore,  benissimo ;  and  yet  he 
loves  the  gondola  and  the  old  life." 

The  Colonel  drew  his  brows  together 
as  if  the  statement  had  not  given  him 
unmixed  pleasure.  "Do  you  think  he 
is  ever  sorry  for  the  education  and  the 
change  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Sorry?  Oh,  no!  His  profession  is 
his  life.  Even  here  when  he  ought  to 
rest,  he  goes  again  and  again  to  the 
Scuola  di  San  Marco,  the  great  hospital, 
to  see  the  sick  people  and  talk  with  the 
doctors.  Signore,"  and  Vittorio's  voice 
sank  to  a  stage  whisper:  "Nanni  is 
writing  a  book.  It  is  about  the  sanita 
tion  of  the  houses." 

The   gondolier   had   stepped   forward 


16  B  tDenettan  3utie 

close  behind  the  cushioned  seat,  and  was 
stooping,  with  bended  knee,  his  head 
almost  on  a  level  with  the  padrone's. 
Keeping  the  oar  constantly  in  motion, 
and  with  an  occasional  deft  turn  of  the 
wrist  to  avoid  a  collision,— for  the  Grand 
Canal  was  a  crowded  thoroughfare  at  this 
hour, — he  nevertheless  seemed  to  have 
eyes  only  for  the  erect  figure  and  the 
grizzled  head  of  his  old  friend. 

"  Our  benefactor  does  not  permit  us  to 
speak  to  him  of  what  is  in  our  hearts," 
he  said,  in  his  stately  Italian  ;  and  again 
his  voice  dropped,  and  this  time  to  a 
wonderfully  melodious  tone:  "But  the 
Madonna  listens  to  us  every  morning  and 
every  evening.  We  all  remember  the 
padrone,  even  \he  piccolo  Gioranni,  whom 
he  has  never  seen." 

A  look  of  comical  deprecation  crossed 
the  face  of  the  passenger,  and  he  said, 
rather  abruptly  :  ' '  I  hope  Nanni  is  good 
to  the  rest  of  you." 

"Si,  Signore  ;  Nanni  is  a  good  brother  ; 
but  we  are  many  and  he  is  not  rich. 


Venetian  tTbovoiujbfare  17 


Ecco  !  The  gondola  of  the  Signora  Day- 
inond.  Will  the  Signore  speak  with 
her?" 

"  Not  to-day,"  the  Colonel  answered, 
hastily  ;  and  in  another  instant,  before 
the  occupants  of  the  other  boat  had  looked 
in  their  direction,  Vittorio  had  stepped 
back  to  his  post  at  the  stern,  and  had 
given  a  twist  of  the  oar  that  .sent  the 
gondola  straight  across  the  prow  of  a 
steamboat  coming  down-stream. 

'  'Lungo  !  ' '  he  shouted,  as  peremptorily 
as  if  the  great  puffing  interloper  had  been 
a  tiny  sandolo,  and  the  big  boat  actually 
did  slow  up  a  bit,  while  Vittorio  swiftly 
rounded  it,  thus  placing  its  great  hull 
between  his  own  and  the  Signora' s  gon 
dola. 

'You're  a  good  oarsman,  Vittorio," 
\\iepadrone  remarked.  "  I  always  said 
that  I  should  like  to  cross  the  ocean  with 
you." 

' '  I  would  rather  the  Signore  stayed 
here,"  Vittorio  exclaimed,  while  a  flash 
ing  smile  lit  up  his  handsome  face  ;  "I 


1 8  B  Venetian  5une 


would   rather  the  Signore   took   a   little 
palace  and  stayed  here  in  Venice  !  " 

Before  the  Signore  had  had  time  to 
give  this  time-honored  proposition  the 
consideration  which  it  merited,  the  gon 
dola  was  lying  alongside  the  steps  at  the 
bankers'  door,  and  his  attention  was 
distracted  by  a  very  ragged,  but  seraphi- 
cally  beautiful  urchin,  who  was  excitedly 
wriggling  his  body  through  the  railing  of 
the  adjoining  ferry-landing,  with  a  view 
to  pressing  his  services  upon  the  foreign 
gentleman.  His  efforts  were  finally  suc 
cessful,  and  when,  a  few  minutes  latter, 
the  Colonel  emerged  from  the  doorway, 
he  found  his  entry  into  the  gondola 
relieved  of  all  supposititious  perils  by  the 
application  of  five  very  brown  bare  toes 
to  the  gunwale.  As  he  placed  his  penny 
in  the  tattered  hat  of  his  small  preserver, 
he  bestowed  upon  him  a  smile  so  benig 
nant  that  all  the  rival  ragamuffins  assem 
bled  upon  the  ferry -landing  took  heart  of 
hope  and  shouted,  as  one  boy  :  "  Un 
soldino,  Signor  !  Un  soldino  !  " 


B  Venetian  tTborougbf  are          19 


Vittorio,  with  a  look  of  superb  scorn, 
calculated  to  convince  the  uninitiated 
that  he  himself  had  never  been  a  Venetian 
ragamuffin,  gave  three  long  strokes  of 
the  oar,  which  sent  the  gondola  far  out 
upon  the  Canal,  well  beyond  the  reach  of 
such  importunities. 

"To  the  hotel,  Signore  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  the  young  ladies  will  be  ready 
to  go  out  by  this  time.  They  are  my 
nieces,  Vittorio." 

"  And  is  it  their  first  visit  in  Venice?  " 

"  Yes  ;  we  have  spent  the  winter  in 
Italy,  and  we  left  the  best  for  the  last." 

' '  The  Signore  still  loves  Venice  ?  ' ' 

"Better  than  any  spot  in  the  world. 
We  will  take  the  short  cut  home,  Vit 
torio." 

Then  Vittorio,  with  the  deep  joy  which 
may  hide  in  the  hearts  of  other  men,  but 
never  shines  in  full  radiance  upon  any 
but  an  Italian  face,  turned  the  gondola 
into  the  same  narrow  rio  through  which 
he  had  rowed  his  passengers  from  the 
station  earlier  in  the  day. 


20  B  Venetian  5unc 


The  Colonel  had  caught  the  flash  in  the 
dark  face,  and  his  own  countenance  had 
assumed  an  answering  mobility.  The 
tension  of  his  first  hours  in  Venice  was 
apt  to  yield,  though  not  usually  as  early 
as  this.  But  then,  he  had  never  before 
.had  the  pleasure  of  his  two  precious 
Pollys  in  anticipation.  As  the  gondola 
drew  near  a  certain  stone  bridge  guarded 
by  an  iron  railing,  the  sight  of  a  woman 
in  a  sulphur  shawl,  lingering  there  to 
speak  with  a  neighbor,  gave  him  a  remi 
niscent  sense  of  amused  gratification. 

Presently  they  came  round  in  front  of 
the  I  rcnczia,  and  Uncle  Dan  looked  up  to 
a  certain  high  balcony,  whence  his  com 
ing  was  hailed  by  a  lively  flutter  of  hand 
kerchiefs. 

' '  Ecco,  my  nieces  !  "  he  remarked  to 
Yittorio,  with  ill-suppressed  pride  of 
ownership  ;  a  claim,  be  it  observed,  which 
the  two  Pollys  wrould  have  been  inclined 
to  dispute  ;  since,  according  to  their  own 
faith  and  practice,  it  was  they  who  owned 
Uncle  Dan  ! 


U1I1L  B  pair  of 

/"E  minutes  later  Uncle  Dan  and  his 
two  Pollys  were  once  more  afloat,  a 
beatific  company.  Their  graceful  craft 
dipped  and  courtesied  to  the  stroke  of  the 
oar  as  it  glided  swiftly  with  the  out-going 
tide,  past  the  gilt  ball  of  the  custom 
house,  past  the  royal  gardens  and  the 
Piazzetta  and  the  Doge's  Palace,  past  the 
red  tower  of  San  Giorgio,  on  and  on,  far 
out  upon  the  wide  lagoons.  Pauline, 
sitting  beside  her  uncle  among  the  cush 
ions  of  state,  was  so  absorbed  in  the  mere 
joy  of  this  gliding,  rhythmic  motion, 
that  she  scarcely  paid  due  deference  to 
the  wonders  of  the  Piazzetta,  past  which 
they  fared  so  swiftly.  Yes  ;  there  were 


22  B  Venetian  3une 


the  famous  pillars  of  Saint  and  L,ion,  and 
there,  beyond  the  Ducal  Palace,  was  a 
passing  glimpse  of  San  Marco.  It  was 
as  it  should  be,  this  delightful  verifica 
tion  of  travellers'  tales  ;  she  could  afford 
to  hold  all  that  in  reserve.  But  just  to 
day,  just  at  this  moment,  she  only  wanted 
to  watch  the  slender  prow,  skimming  the 
wonderful  opaline  waters,  drawing  ever 
nearer  to  those  mystic  islands  floating 
over  yonder  like  a  dream  within  a  dream. 
She  wondered  vaguely  at  May's  vivid 
alertness  ;  for  her  sister,  claiming  the 
privilege  of  youth,  was  enjoying  the 
freedom  of  the  gondola,  perching  here 
and  there  as  her  fancy  prompted,  in  the 
ample  forward  space,  that  nothing  might 
escape  her  eager,  critical  attention. 

"  How  queer  of  them  to  have  put  those 
two  windows  out  of  line!"  May  ex 
claimed,  fixing  upon  the  water-front  of 
the  Ducal  Palace  a  glance  of  disapproval 
beneath  which  the  stately  old  pile  blushed 
rosy  red.  At  least  it  was  at  that  moment 
that  she  first  observed  the  pinkness  of  its 


B  {pair  ot  pollgs  23 

complexion.  "  But  it  's  a  lovely  color," 
she  hastened  to  admit;  '  'and  those  columns 
in  the  second  story  are  perfectly  dear." 

"They  have  been  a  good  deal  ad 
mired,"  Uncle  Dan  observed  dryly,  yet 
with  a  friendly  twinkle  that  flickered 
over  into  the  crow's-feet  which  were  such 
an  important  feature  of  his  equipment  as 
uncle.  And  May,  nothing  daunted,  pur 
sued  her  own  train  of  thought  with 
unflagging  spirit. 

"Vittorio,  which  way  is  the  Lido?" 
she  asked  presently,  in  her  crispest  Ital 
ian.  She  was  sitting  on  the  carpeted 
steps  at  the  prow,  wrhence  she  had  been 
regarding,  with  a  quite  impersonal  inter 
est,  the  swaying  motion  of  the  supple, 
picturesque  figure  at  the  oar.  She  was 
not  sure  that  she  altogether  approved  of 
the  broad  white  straw  hat,  with  flutter 
ing  ends  of  blue  ribbon,  nor  of  the  blue 
woolen  sash  with  its  white  fringe  which 
waved  back  and  forth  as  its  wearer  trod 
the  deck  ;  but  these  were  minor  details, 
and  the  total  effect  was  undeniably  good. 


24  B  Venetian  5une 


Vittorio,  accustomed  to  that  particular 
kind  of  attention  which  the  tourist  be 
stows  impartially  upon  man  or  gondola, 
the  briccoli  whose  clustering  posts  mark 
the  channels  in  the  lagoon,  or  the  towers 
of  the  mad-house  rising  from  yonder 
island, — had  continued  his  unswerving 
gaze  straight  over  the  head  of  the  Sig- 
norina.  At  the  sound  of  his  name  his 
bearing  changed.  Lifting  his  hat,  he 
took  a  step  forward,  and,  still  plying  the 
oar  with  his  right  hand,  he  said  :  "  Over 
yonder  is  Sant'  Klisabetta  del  Lido,  where 
the  tourists  go.  But  the  Lido  reaches 
for  miles  between  us  and  the  sea, —as  the 
Signore  will  tell  you,"  he  added,  witli 
the  careful  deference  that  the  Colonel 
knew  so  well. 

The  familiar  voice  of  the  gondolier, 
striking  across  his  meditations,  had  a 
singular  effect  upon  the  Colonel.  It 
made  him  aware  that  this  was  a  differ 
ent  Venice  from  the  one  which  Vittorio 
had  been  wont  to  show  him.  What  had 
become  of  the  pensive  quality  of  the  at- 


21  pair  ot  ipollgs  25 

mosphere,  the  brooding  melancholy  of 
its  impression  upon  him  ?  Where,  he 
wondered,  half- resentfully,  was  the  dim 
oppression,  the  subtle  pain  he  had  here 
tofore  associated  with  these  tranquil 
water  spaces?  What  witch-work  were 
those  girls  playing  with  the  traditions 
of  twenty-five  years  ?  He  glanced  from 
one  to  the  other  of  their  unconscious 
faces,  each  absorbed  after  its  own  fash 
ion.  After  all,  it  was  pleasant  to  look 
upon  the  world  through  young  eyes. 
No  fear  but  the  old  preoccupation  would 
reassert  itself  in  due  time.  But  some 
how  his  mind  declined  to  concern  itself 
with  that  just  now,  and  with  a  half  hu 
morous  deprecation,  he  resumed  his  con 
templation  of  his  two  Pollys. 

His  claim  to  such  a  unique  possession 
formed  in  itself  an  achievement  upon 
which  the  Colonel  prided  himself  not  a 
little.  He  often  recalled  his  chagrin 
when  his  sister  Mary,  —  Polly  as  he,  and 
he  alone  had  called  her, — failed  to  give 
her  eldest  daughter  her  own  name.  How 


26  B  Venetian  5une 

could  he,  a  totally  inexperienced  uncle, 
enter  into  satisfactory  relations  with  a 
young  person  encumbered  with  the  stately 
cognomen  of  Pauline  ?  She  was  sure  to  be 
haughty  and  unapproachable.  No  won 
der  that  she  puckered  up  her  face  in  hos 
tile  protest  as  often  as  he  offered  her  a 
perfunctory  salutation.  He  was  becom 
ing  fairly  afraid  of  the  little  month-old 
personage,  when  one  day,  he  hit  upon 
the  reassuring  device  of  turning  Pauline, 
with  all  its  conservative  dignity,  into 
Polly.  If  the  testimony  of  a  gentleman 
and  an  officer  was  to  be  relied  upon,  their 
good  understanding  dated  from  that  hour. 
For  Uncle  Dan  was  willing  to  take  his 
oath  that  the  very  day  on  which  the  two 
soft,  ingratiating  syllables  fell  upon  the 
small  pink  ear,  the  small  pink  face  re 
laxed  into  an  expression  of  kindly  toler 
ance,  blossoming  out  a  few  days  later, 
into  that  ecstatic  first  smile  which  had 
sealed  his  subjugation. 

Uncle  Dan  was  perhaps  not  thinking 
of  this  circumstance,  as  he  glanced  to- 


B  pair  of  polios  27 


day  at  the  serenely  blissful  young  face 
beside  him,  a  face  which  had  never  in  all 
these  years  begrudged  him  a  smile.  Yet 
such  reminiscences  were  not  wholly  for 
eign  to  his  thoughts,  and  they  doubtless 
lent  their  own  agreeable  though  unrecog 
nized  flavor  to  his  meditations,  as  he 
looked  upon  the  Venetian  lagoons  through 
the  eyes  of  his  Pollys. 

In  the  course  of  time  two  other  little 
maids  had  come  upon  the  scene,— Susan 
and  Isabella  were  their  unsuggestive 
names.  Married  now,  both  of  them,  Un 
cle  Dan  was  wont  to  state,  parentheti 
cally  ;  and  indeed,  if  the  truth  be  known, 
he  had  always  taken  a  parenthetical  view 
of  these  unexceptionable  little  nieces. 
But  when  his  Polly  had  remained  for 
seven  years  without  a  rival  in  his  affec 
tions,  a  fourth  small  damsel  had  presented 
herself,  and  had  been  regarded  by  her 
parents  as  the  logical  candidate  for  her 
mother's  name.  From  that  time  forth 
the  Colonel  was  the  happy  possessor  of 
two  Pollys,  and  it  would  have  been  dim- 


28  B  Venetian  5une 


cult  to  say  which  had  the  more  complete 
ascendency  over  him.  Big  Polly  and  lit 
tle  Polly  he  called  them,  and  before  the 
little  one  was  well  out  of  long  clothes  he 
had  formed  the  project  of  showing  his 
Pollys  the  world. 

The  death  of  his  sister  having  occurred 
some  years  since,  his  brother-in-law's 
second  marriage  which  took  place  after  a 
due  interval,  left  Uncle  Dan  with  a  free 
hand  to  carry  out  his  project.  He  could 
not  but  feel  indebted  to  Beverly  for  taking 
a  step  which  rendered  him  independent 
of  daughterly  ministrations,  though  such 
a  proceeding  ran  counter  to  one  of  the 
Colonel's  most  perverse  and  therefore 
most  valued  theories.  That  a  woman 
should  take  a  second  husband  had  long 
seemed  to  him  both  natural  and  proper, 
but  the  reasons  were  obvious,  to  his  mind 
at  least,  why  a  man  should  be  more  con 
stant.  Be  that  as  it  may,  however,  here 
they  were,  Uncle  Dan  and  his  Pollys,  and 
to-day,  of  all  days,  the  Colonel  was  little 
disposed  to  cavil  at  anything. 


B  pair  of  ipollgs  29 


"  What  good  manners  this  man  has  !  " 
Pauline  remarked,  as  Vittorio  made  his 
answer  to  the  Signorina. 

"Yes;"  Uncle  Dan  replied.  "He 
never  slips  up  on  that." 

' '  Where  does  he  get  it  ?  " 

"A  family  trait.  His  father  had  it 
when  he  used  to  row  me  twenty-five  years 
ago,  and  I  've  no  doubt  his  forbears  were 
all  like  that.  It 's  a  matter  of  race." 

' '  A  matter  of  race  !  ' '  cried  Ma}*. 
"Why,  Uncle:  Dan,  when  that  Italian  in 
the  train  the  other  day  stared  us  out  of 
countenance  and  we  asked  you  to  do 
something  about  it,  you  told  us  it  was 
the  custom  of  the  country  !  " 

"That's  only  Uncle  Dan's  way  of 
shirking  his  responsibilities,"  Pauline 
explained.  "It's  lucky  for  you,  May, 
that  I  'm  getting  on  in  life.  I  don't  know 
what  you  would  do  if  you  had  n't  any 
better  chaperone  than  Uncle  Dan." 

"And  yet,  you  don't  seem  so  very 
old,"  May  remarked,  rather  doubtfully, 
tilting  her  golden  head  at  a  critical  angle. 


30  B  IDenetfan  $une 


"  I  don't  believe  anybody  would  suspect 
you  of  being  twenty-seven." 

"  That 's  a  comfort,"  laughed  Pauline, 
with  a  humorous  appreciation  that  was 
like  Uncle  Dan's. 

Pauline  Beverly  had  not,  like  her  sis 
ter,  a  reputation  for  beauty,  yet  she  pos 
sessed  undeniable  charm.  Her  hair  was 
of  a  sunny  brown,  and  softly  undulating  ; 
her  eyes  were  of  the  same  shade  as  her 
hair,  and  capable  of  a  changing  light, 
and,  when  she  smiled,  her  face,  soft  and 
pure,  but  not  brilliant  in  coloring,  had 
somehow  the  look  of  a  brook  rippling 
over  brown  pebbles  in  a  shady  place, 
where  the  sunshine  comes  in  threads  and 
hints,  rather  than  in  an  obliterating  flood 
of  light.  The  years,  whose  sum  seemed 
to  May  so  considerable,  had  performed 
their  modelling  very  gently,  conferring 
upon  the  countenance  that  winning 
quality  which  is  the  gift  of  those  who 
habitually  think  more  of  others  than  of 
themselves. 

They  were  coming  in  past  the  red  sen- 


ipair  of  fcoltES  31 


tinel-tower  of  San  Giorgio,  May  still  sit 
ting  on  the  low  steps  facing  the  stern  of 
the  gondola.  As  the  young  girl  looked 
past  her  companions,  across  the  silvery 
spaces  of  the  lagoon,  her  eyes  grew 
dreamy  and  far-away.  So  marked  was 
the  phenomenon,  that  Uncle  Dan  was 
moved  to  exclaim  :  "  A  penny  for  your 
thoughts,  Polly." 

May  started,  for  she  was  not  often 
caught  sentimentalizing.  Then,  with 
the  directness  which  characterized  her, 
she  said:  "I  was  wondering  whether 
one  might  not  perhaps  find  a  soul  here 
in  Venice." 

' '  A  soul  ?     What  kind  of  a  soul  ?  ' ' 

"Oh,  any  sort  would  do,  I  suppose. 
You  know  Signer  Firenzo  told  me  my 
voice  was  bcllissima,  but  that  I  hadn't 
any  soul." 

"Perhaps  Signer  Firenzo  is  a  better 
judge  of  voices  than  of  souls,"  Pauline 
suggested,  with  a  confident  little  smile. 

"A  young  girl  like  you.  hasn't  any 
business  with  a  soul,"  Uncle  Dan  de- 


32  &  Venetian 


clared.  "  If  you  think  you  see  one  com 
ing  over  the  lagoon  you  had  better  turn 
round  and  look  at  the  Lion  of  St.  Mark's. 
He  hasn't  the  sign  of  a  soul,  yet  he  's 
the  best  of  good  fellows,  as  anybody  can 
see." 

May  promptly  turned,  and  fixed  her 
eyes  upon  the  classic  beast  in  question. 

"I  didn't  know  that  lions  had  such 
long,  straight  tails,"  she  remarked. 

'The  wings  strike  me  as  being  more 
out  of  the  common,"  Uncle  Dan  chuc 
kled,  much  reassured  by  Polly's  ready 
return  to  the  judicial  attitude. 

"  I  should  almost  think,"  said  Pauline, 
musingly,  ''that  a  lion  that  had  wings 
and  a  taste  for  literature  might  perhaps 
have  a  soul  after  all  !  " 


TO.  B  IReverie. 

MHHN  Vittorio  was  told  to  come  for 
them  in  the  evening,  he  had  cast 
a  significant  glance  at  a  certain  radiant 
white  cloud,  billowing  in  the  West,  and 
said  :  "  Speriamo  "  /  which,  in  the  vocab 
ulary  of  the  gondolier  means:  "Let  us 
hope  for  the  best  and  prepare  for  the 
worst."  Upon  which  the  cloud  had 
gradually  taken  on  more  formidable  pro 
portions,  until,  just  at  dusk,  it  burst  in 
a  torrent  of  rain,  which  swept  the  Grand 
Canal  clear  of  sight-seers,  and  sent  the 
nightly  serenaders,  who  usually  act  as 
magnets  to  the  wandering  gondolas,  into 
the  hotels  for  refuge.  A  band  of  them 
were  established  in  the  long,  wide  corri 
dor  of  the  Vcnczia,  where  their  strong, 
33 


34  B  \Denetian  3une 

crude  voices  and  their  twanging  strings 
reverberated  rather  noisily. 

Wondering  how  it  must  seem  to  have 
nerves  young  enough  to  sustain  such 
rough  treatment,  the  Colonel  abandoned 
his  nieces  to  their  self-inflicted  ordeal,  and 
mounted  the  stairs  to  his  own  familiar 
quarters.  And  there,  as  he  closed  the 
door  behind  him,  he  ceased  to  speculate 
upon  such  ephemeral  matters. 

He  had  come  up,  ostensibly  to  write 
some  letters,  but  instead  of  doing  so, 
he  lighted  a  cigar,  and  seated  himself  at 
the  window,  watching  the  swoop  of 
the  rain  along  the  hurrying  waters  of  the 
Canal.  The  tide  was  coming  in  and 
the  wind  was  with  it.  One  gondola  at  the 
ferry  was  struggling  across  the  current, 
with  difficulty  held  to  its  course  by  the 
efforts  of  its  straining  oarsman.  The 
passengers  had  taken  refuge  under  the 
felze,  or  gondola  hood.  Impatient  of 
the  slow  progress  of  the  boat,  the  Col 
onel  looked  down  into  the  hotel-garden 
directly  beneath  his  windows,  which 


tfleverie  35 


was  drowned  in  a  moist  blur,  that  only 
seemed  intensified  where  it  focused  about 
the  electric  lights.  Over  there  again, 
across  the  Canal,  stood  the  great  Salute, 
showing  ghostly  and  unreal  in  its  massive 
whiteness,  half  obliterated  by  the  driving 
rain.  It  would  have  seemed  that  the 
most  perfunctory  letter-writing  might 
have  been  an  improvement  upon  such 
a  prospect  as  that.  Yet  the  Colonel  sat 
on,  puffing  in  a  desultory  manner  at 
his  excellent  cigar,  and  reflecting  that 
another  five  years  had  gone  by. 

A  curious  thing,  he  was  thinking  to 
himself,  how  inevitably  he  found  himself 
in  Venice  once  in  five  years.  It  was  not 
in  his  plan  to  do  so.  He  would  have 
been  just  as  ready  to  return  after  an 
interval  of  two  years,  or  of  three  ;  but, 
for  one  reason  or  another,  he  never 
seemed  able  to  arrange  his  affairs  to 
that  end  until  the  fifth  year  had  come 
round.  Somebody  was  sure  to  die  and 
leave  him  executor  of  his  will ;  or  this 
or  that  charity  of  which  he  was  treasurer 


36  B  tDenetian  5une 

made  a  point  of  getting  into  a  tight 
place.  To-morrow  was  the  twenty-ninth 
of  the  month  ; — to-morrow  always  was 
the  twenty-ninth  on  his  first  arrival  in 
Venice.  Yet  that,  too,  was  the  merest 
accident,  as  he  assured  himself  with 
some  heat.  None  of  these  things  were 
premeditated. 

He  should  call  upon  her  to-morrow, — 
certainly.  It  would  be  a  downright  dis 
courtesy  to  wait  until  they  had  met  by 
chance.  He  wondered  if  she  were  ex 
pecting  him.  Probably  not;  she  had 
other  things  to  think  of,  especially  now 
that  her  son  was  with  her. 

It  would  be  a  pleasure  to  see  her,— 
her  beautiful,  friendly  eyes,  that  enchant 
ing  smile,  that  wonderful  turn  of  the 
head.  As  though  she  could  ever  have 
cared  for  a  battered  old  wreck  like  him  ! 
And  yet  he  knew,  with  an  indubitable 
knowledge,  that  he  should  ask  her  again. 
And  the  answer  would  be  the  same  as 
it  had  been  twenty-five  years  ago,  when 
she  was  but  a  three-years'  widow. 


IReverie  37 


He  had  been  hasty,  he  had  not  suffi 
ciently  respected  her  past.  He  should 
have  waited.  And  yet,  when  he  came 
again,  after  five  years,  perhaps  that,  too, 
was  an  error  of  judgment.  Perhaps 
his  coming,  after  so  long  an  interval, 
caused  the  revival  of  old  memories, 
caused  a  shock  which  might  have  been 
avoided  if  he  had  ventured  sooner.  And 
then,  when  another  five  years  had  passed, 
he  had  begun  to  age.  A  man  who  has  seen 
field  service  has  not  the  staying  powers 
of  other  men.  That  London  doctor  knew 
all  about  it  in  a  moment.  Yes,  he  had 
already  begun  to  age,  fifteen  years  ago. 
And  now  ! 

The  Colonel  relighted  his  cigar,  which 
had  gone  out.  How  the  rain  kept  at  it ! 
He  could  hear  the  swish  of  it  on  the  wall 
of  the  house  across  the  garden.  Kven 
Venice  could  be  dreary. 

He  had  never  seen  her  anywhere  else. 
He  did  not  ask  himself  why  he  had  re 
frained  from  seeking  her  out  in  her  own 
home,  not  five  hundred  miles  from  his 


38  B  iflenetfan  5une 

own, — why  he  had  always  come  to  her 
here  in  Venice,  where  all  her  married  life 
had  been  spent.  After  all,  a  man  does 
what  he  must.  And  to-morrow  he  should 
ask  her  again  !  He  did  not  wish  to,  he 
did  not  even  intend  to.  He  could  resolve 
not  to,  here,  in  cold  blood,  with  the  dis 
heartening  rain  blotting  out  the  rose 
bushes  down  below,  and  a  disheartening 
conviction  of  failure  blotting  out  his 
nerve  and  courage.  But  to-morrow  she 
would  rise  to  meet  him,  in  her  own 
gracious  way,  he  should  touch  her  beauti 
ful,  firm  hand,  where  a  single  jewel  shone. 
He  thought  if  he  could  ever  see  another 
ring  upon  that  hand,  one  which,  having 
no  significance  of  its  own,  might  weaken 
the  significance  of  that  diamond,  now 
grown  old-fashioned  in  its  low  setting, 
there  might  be  a  chance  for  him.  But, 
no  ;  there  would  be  but  the  one  ring,  and 
there  would  be  no  chance  for  him  ; — and 
yet  he  should  ask  her  ! 

There  was  another  gondola  struggling 
across  the  Canal,     Why  should   anyone 


B  IRcverie  39 

be  out  in  such  weather?  It  must  be 
a  lover,  or  some  such  sanguine  person, 
bent,  as  like  as  not,  upon  a  fruitless 
errand.  The  Colonel  had  but  scant  sym 
pathy  with  lovers ;  they  so  rarely  had 
any  discrimination. 

Yes,  she  would  come  forward,  with  ex 
tended  hand,  to  meet  him.  He  wondered 
whether  the  streak  of  grey  on  the  right 
temple  would  have  widened  appreciably. 
Perhaps  it  would  have  spread  itself,  like 
a  fine  white  film  of  lace,  over  the  abun 
dant  hair.  It  would  probably  be  very 
becoming.  That  was  another  curious 
thing  ;  every  time  he  saw  her  she  had 
grown  more  beautiful.  The  years  that 
had  dealt  so  harshly  with  him  had 
touched  her  only  to  an  added  grace  and 
tenderness  ;  experience  had  drawn  only 
noble  lines  upon  her  face,  and  there  was 
an  ever-increasing  warmth  and  gracious- 
ness  of  countenance  which  was  infinitely 
finer  than  the  bloom  of  youth.  People 
made  a  great  deal  of  youth,  but  really, 
when  you  came  to  think  of  it,  what  a 


40  B  Venetian  3-une 


meagre,  paltr}^  thing  it  was  !  A  man 
hardly  began  to  live  before  he  was  thirty- 
five  ! 

"Uncle  Dan,  may  we  come  in ?  " 

The  door  flew  open,  and  two  young 
persons,  with  all  the  disabilities  of  youth 
upon  their  heads,  came  rustling  in  upon 
the  old  bachelor's  misanthropic  reverie. 
Instantly  the  atmosphere  had  changed. 

"  It  was  very  good  fun,"  May  re 
marked,  as  she  perched  upon  the  arm  of 
her  uncle's  chair.  ''They  shrieked 
'  Margherita  '  and  '  Santa  Lucia  '  and  a 
lot  of  opera  airs,  till  we  thought  we  should 
lose  our  tympanums,  and  so  we  came 
away." 

"  We  were  in  quite  as  much  danger  of 
losing  our  manners,"  Pauline  interposed. 
"We  sat  next  a  delicious  English  girl, 
pretty  as  a  picture  and  unresponsive  as  a 
statue,  and  we  simply  dragged  her  into 
conversation.  She  took  us  for  English 
and  was  terribly  shocked  to  find  we  were 
Americans,  and  not  even  Canadians  at 
that.  '  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you 


IReverie  41 


come  from  the  States  ! '  she  cried,  quite 
forgetting  that  she  was  a  statue.  And 
then  May  got  wicked,  as  she  always  does 
when  her  patriotism  is  touched." 

"Nonsense!"  May  broke  in  ;  "it 
is  n't  patriotism  ;  it  's  self-respect." 

"And  how  did  you  work  off  your  self- 
respect?  "  asked  Uncle  Dan,  deeply  in 
terested  . 

"  I  told  her  I  thought  it  was  very 
strange  that  English  people  should  mis 
take  us.  That  we  never  mistook  them  ; 
we  knew  at  a  glance  a  person  from  the 
Isles.  She  rose  to  it  like  a  tennis-ball, 
and  asked  what  isles  I  referred  to. 
'Why,  the  British  Isles,'  I  answered, 
innocently.  And  then  she  looked  mysti 
fied,  and  Pauline  discovered  that  the  noise 
was  very  fatiguing,  and  we  came  away." 

For  half-an-hour  Uncle  Dan  listened, 
highly  diverted,  to  the  chatter  of  the 
girls,  and  it  never  once  occurred  to  him 
to  remember  the  meagreness  and  paltri 
ness  of  their  condition.  After  they  had 
left  him,  he  turned  to  the  window,  feeling 


42  B  Venetian  3-une 


that  the  dreariness  without  and  within 
was  a  very  transitory  and  inconsequent 
thing.  And  lo  !  a  change  had  come. 
The  influx  of  youth  would  appear  to 
have  put  to  flight  other  clouds  than  those 
of  a  morbid  mind.  The  rain  had  alto 
gether  ceased.  He  could  see  the  roses 
gleaming  moistly  in  the  circles  of  electric 
light.  The  serenaders  were  just  pushing 
away  in  their  big  barge,  with  colored 
lanterns  swaying  in  the  breeze.  They 
were  beginning  to  sing,  and  their  voices 
sounded  sweet  and  melodious  in  the  open 
air.  Above  the  Salute  the  clouds  were 
breaking  away,  and  there  were  stars 
gleaming  in  the  detsp  blue  clearing. 

' '  Have  3^ou  seen  the  stars,  Uncle 
Dan?"  came  Pauline's  voice  through 
the  key-hole.  "  We  're  going  to  have  a 
glorious  day  to-morrow  ! ' ' 


had  been  spend- 
ing   an    hour  among 
the  wonderful  glooms    and 
gleams  of  St.  Mark's,  and 
now  they   had  mounted  to 
the  high  gallery  that  spans 
the  space  between  pillar  and 
pillar.     The     Colonel    had    !_ 
looked  twice    at  his  watch, 
for  he  had  an  appointment 
with    himself,    so    to    speak, 
and  he  proposed  to  leave  the 
girls  to  the   study   of  the   gold  mosaics 
which  they  seemed  inclined  to  take  seri 
ously.      For  the  moment  they  were  lean 
ing  upon   the  stone  balustrade,    looking 
down  into  the    great  dim   spaces  of  the 
church. 

43 


44  21  Venetian  Suite 


"  I  wish  I  knew  whether  it  was  really 
good,"  said  May,  lifting  her  golden  head 
in  deprecation  of  a  possibly  misguided 
admiration.  "  It  is  so  beautiful  that  I  'm 
dreadfully  afraid  it  is  meretricious." 

"  It  is  really  good,"  said  a  voice  close 
at  hand.  "I  think  we  may  set  our 
minds  at  rest  about  that." 

The  voice  was  its  own  passport  and  no 
one  thought  of  taking  the  remark  amiss. 
Uncle  Dan,  who  had  been  consulting  his 
watch  for  the  third  time,  looked  up  with 
a  twinkle  of  good  understanding,  which 
the  appearance  of  the  speaker  justified. 
The  young  man  was  possessed  of  a  good 
figure  and  a  good  face,  as  well  as  of  a 
good  voice. 

Somewhat  startled,  the  girls  turned 
and  discovered  that  they  had  been  ob 
structing  the  narrow  passage. 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  !  "  they  both 
cried,  as  they  retreated  into  an  angle  of 
the  gallery.  "You  could  n't  pass  us  by." 

"I  did  n't  particularly  want  to,"  the 
stranger  replied,  quite  at  his  ease.  "  This 


Signora  45 


is  one  of  the  best  points  of  view, ' '  and  it 
was  much  to  his  credit  that  he  did  not 
give  the  obvious  turn  to  his  remark  by 
looking  at  the  two  girls  as  he  made  it  ; 
for  neither  the  beauty  of  the  youthful 
sceptic  nor  the  quiet  distinction  of  her 
sister  was  likely  to  have  been  lost  upon  a 
man  of  his  stamp.  That  they  were 
sisters,  unlike  as  they  were,  could  not 
have  escaped  the  most  casual  observer. 

"  Then  you  know  what  is  good,"  May 
remarked,  in  perfect  good  faith. 

"  I  know  this  is  good,"  he  answered  ; 
"  and  I  am  sure  it  is  much  too  good  to 
be  interrupted." 

He  was  at  the  disadvantage  of  holding 
his  hat  in  his  hand,  in  deference  to  place, 
so  that  he  was  unable  to  indicate  a  defer 
ence  to  persons  by  lifting  it.  Yet  he  took 
his  leave  with  so  good  a  manner  that  the 
Colonel  was  moved  to  detain  him.  As 
the  stranger  made  his  way  past  him,  the 
elder  man  remarked  :  "  It  must  be  worth 
while  to  be  up  on  architecture  in  this  part 
of  the  world." 


46  B  Venetian  $une 

"It's  worth  while  to  be  up  on  archi 
tecture  in  any  part  of  the  world,"  the 
young  man  replied.  "Where  there  is 
nothing  to  see  there  is  all  the  more  to 
do." 

He  paused  a  moment,  as  if  St.  Mark's 
were  really  more  interesting  than  his  own 
opinions.  Then:  "  Have  you  travelled 
much  in  our  own  West?  "  he  asked. 

"  No  ;  "  was  the  Colonel's  unblushing 
admission  ;  for  he  was  a  New  Englander 
of  the  New  Englanders,  and  valued  his 
own  limitations. 

''There  's  good  work  going  on  out 
there;  it's  a  great  field." 

"  But  surely  you  are  not  a  Westerner  !  " 
the  Colonel  protested. 

"No;  but  I  sometimes  wish  I  were. 
It's  the  thing  to  be." 

There  was  no  challenge  in  his  voice, 
yet  Colonel  Steele  was  half  inclined  to 
take  umbrage  at  the  unprejudiced  state 
ment  of  fact.  The  ease,  however,  with 
which  the  young  man  again  indicated  a 
courteous  leave-taking  without  the  aid  of 


Cbe  Sisnora  47 


a  hat  disarmed  criticism,  and  as  the  Colo 
nel  watched  the  slowly  retreating  figure, 
he  willingly  accorded  to  the  heresy  the 
indulgence  due  to  youthful  vagaries.  To 
be  sure,  he  could  not  remember  that  an 
exaggerated  estimate  of  the  Great  West 
had  ever  been  a  vagary  of  his  own  youth. 
But  then,  he  supposed  that  the  West  had 
made  advances  since  his  day  ! 

A  glance  at  his  watch  changed  the 
direction  of  his  thoughts,  and  a  few  min 
utes  later  Vittorio  was  rowing  him  swiftly, 
with  the  tide,  up  the  Grand  Canal.  Just 
as  the  noon  gun  roared  out  from  the  base 
of  San  Giorgio,  the  Colonel  rang  the  bell 
of  the  Pallazzo  Darino. 

She  was  sitting,  the  lady  of  his  even 
ing  reverie,  the  lady  of  a  life-long  reverie, 
one  might  as  truly  say,  just  as  he  had 
hoped  to  find  her,  alone  and  disengaged. 
Two  or  three  open  letters  lay  upon  the 
tablebesideher,  but  they  lay  theremeekly, 
as  if  they  knew  that  they  must  bide  their 
time. 

"Ah  !  Colonel  Steele  !" 


48  B  Venetian  5une 


She  spoke  his  name  as  no  one  else  had 
ever  done,  somehow  as  if  it  were  a  title 
of  nobility,  and  as  she  came  forward  to 
meet  him,  the  soft  rustle  of  her  garments 
filled  him  with  content.  He  took  the 
extended  hand,  and,  bending  above  it, 
he  noted  the  diamond,  in  its  low,  old- 
fashioned  setting,  gleaming  there  alone. 

' '  I  am  glad  you  are  faithful  to  Venice, ' ' 
she  said.  "I  hoped  you  might  come 
this  year." 

t '  And  you  still  come  every  year  ?  ' ' 

"Yes." 

The  white  film  had  spread  just  as  he 
had  anticipated.  He  could  see  how  com 
plete  it  was,  as  she  seated  herself  in  the 
full  light  of  the  open  window.  The  Colo 
nel  had  sometimes  been  startled  to  find 
how  his  premonitions  in  regard  to  her 
had  come  true.  One  year  he  had  said 
to  himself: — she  will  be  paler  than  usual  ; 
I  wonder  if  she  has  been  ill.  And  he  had 
found  that  she  had  been  ill,  and  there 
was  a  fragility  and  pallor  about  her  that 
seemed  to  him  quite  heart-breaking. 


Gbe  Signer*  43 


Again  he  had  said  to  himself — she  will 
be  wearing  crape  as  in  the  old  times  ;  I 
wonder  why.  And  when  he  had  come 
to  her  she  had  told  him  of  her  mother's 
death  a  few  months  previous.  So  to-day 
he  had  known  of  that  lace-like  whiteness 
of  the  beautiful  head,  and  of  a  certain 
deepening  of  the  depression  of  cheek  and 
chin,  which  had  not  been  there  five  years 
ago. 

"  Yes,"  she  was  saying.  "  I  don't  find 
Venice  anywhere  else,  and  so  I  come 
over  every  year.  Happily,  I  like  the 
voyage." 

The  Colonel  did  not  like  the  voyage, 
but  that  was  a  painful  fact  which  he  had 
never  felt  called  upon  to  admit. 

"This  year  I  have  my  boy  with  me," 
she  added.  ' '  That  is  a  great  pleasure. ' ' 

"And  I  have  my  nieces,"  he  replied, 
deterred  by  a  curious  jealousy  from  pur 
suing  the  subject  of  the  boy. 

"  How  delightful  !  That  is,  I  suppose 
you  find  it  so,  since  you  have  brought 
them." 


50  B  IDenctian  5une 


"Oh,  yes;  it  makes  quite  a  different 
thing  of  travelling.  We  came  over  in  Oc 
tober.  We  have  been  wintering  in  Rome." 

He  wondered  how  he  should  put  it  this 
time.  Five  words  usually  sufficed, — five 
words  that  meant  so  much  to  him,  and 
so  little,  so  intolerably  little  to  her. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  young  people 
with  you,"  she  said.  "We  need  them 
more  and  more  as  we  grow  older." 

"Well;  that  depends,"  the  Colonel 
demurred,  too  loyal  to  his  Pollys,  even 
here  and  now,  to  allow  them  to  be  re 
garded  generically.  "There  are  not 
many  girls  I  should  wrant  to  have  on  my 
hands.  I  think  the  Pollys  are  rather 
exceptional." 

' '  What  did  you  say  the  name  was  ?  ' ' 

"Polly;  Polly  Beverly." 

"  And  what  is  the  other  one's  name?  " 

"  Same  name.  They  are  both  Pollys. 
I  named  them  myself,"  he  added,  with 
a  quite  unforeseen  revival  of  that  agreea 
ble  self-satisfaction  which  he  never  could 
conceal  in  this  connection. 


tTbe  Signora  51 


And  then,  to  his  own  surprise,  he  found 
himself  entering  with  much  gusto  upon 
the  story  of  their  christening.  By  the 
time  he  had  finished,  he  felt  quite  toned 
up  and  invigorated. 

"Tell  me  some  more  about  them,"  she 
begged. 

She  was  leaning  back  in  her  seat,  se 
renely  receptive.  The  Colonel,  sitting 
opposite  to  her  in  the  straight-backed 
chair  such  as  he  always  chose,  noted, 
with  a  curiously  disengaged  pleasure, 
the  wonderful  opaline  quality  of  the  im 
pression  she  made.  The  soft  gray  folds 
of  her  dress,  the  still  more  softened  gray 
of  the  hair,  and  the  deep  gray  of  the 
beautiful  eyes, — none  of  these  quiet  shades 
were  dull  and  fixed.  A  delicate  play  of 
light  and  shadow  made  them  vital,  as 
the  gray  of  the  lagoons  is  vital,  when 
there  are  clouds  before  the  sun,  and  a 
strange,  mystic  luminousness  traverses 
their  tranquil  spaces.  She  had  always 
reminded  him  of  the  lagoons.  The  as 
sociation  only  seemed  to  make  each  more 


52  B  Venetian  5une 


exquisite  and  apart.  And  now,  as  he 
told  her  about  his  Pollys,  it  was  with 
very  much  the  same  sense  of  perfect 
gratification  with  which  he  had  taken 
them  out  upon  the  water  the  day  before. 
There  was  also  the  same  singular  absence 
of  the  old,  familiar  pain  and  oppression. 

"What  are  they  interested  in?"  she 
asked,  and  there  could  be  no  doubt  in  the 
Colonel's  mind  that  she  really  cared  to 
know. 

"Well;  they  are  interested  in  pretty 
much  everything,  though  in  a  different 
way.  For  instance,  they  are  making 
short  work  of  Italian.  They  speak  bet 
ter  than  I  do,  after  all  these  years,"  he 
declared  with  delighted  self-depreciation, 
"  though  perhaps  that  's  not  much  to 
brag  of.  One  of  them  has  got  the  accent 
and  the  other  the  grammar  ;  so  they  pull 
very  well  together.  Then  the  younger 
one  can  sing  like  a  bird." 

The  Colonel  was  warming  to  his  sub 
ject,  and  the  Signora,  as  he  liked  to  call 
her,  did  not  interrupt. 


Stgnora  53 


"She  has  been  studying  with  Firenzo 
in  Rome.  He  says  she  's  got  a  tip-top 
voice  and  plenty  of  execution.  Sketches, 
too, — not  particularly  well,  though.  Her 
things  look  right  enough,  but  somehow 
they  don't  say  much.  Firenzo  thinks 
that  's  the  trouble  with  her  singing. 
Good  voice,  you  know,  but  it  does  n't 
speak.  Young,  I  suppose  !  That  's  it  ; 
eh?" 

"Twenty  years  old,  you  say?  Yes,  I 
should  call  that  young  !  And  the  other 
one  ?  Tell  me  about  her. ' ' 

"Well,  Polly  has  n't  much  ambition. 
Nice  contralto  voice,  not  much  culti 
vated.  Rather  a  contralto  little  woman, 
don't  you  know?  The  kind  that  some 
how  warms  the  cockles  of  your  heart. 
Lots  of  character,  too.  There  's  nothing 
weak  about  Polly.  You  '11  like  her." 

"I'm  sure  I  shall.  And  what  has 
she  been  about  all  these  years  ?  Twenty- 
seven,  did  you  say?  " 

"  Well,  family  matters  mostly.  They  've 
kept  her  pretty  busy.  She's  the  eldest, 


54  B  IDenetian  5une 


you  know.  She  has  married  off  three  of 
them  already." 

"  Three  sisters  ?" 

* '  No  ;  two  sisters  and  a  father.  There  's 
nobody  left  now,  but  these  two." 

It  was  all  very  like  that  trip  on  the  la 
goons  yesterday  ;  only,  in  the  one  case, 
he  had  seen  the  lagoons  through  the  eyes 
of  his  Pollys,  while  to-day  he  seemed  to 
be  seeing  his  Pollys,  through  the  eyes  of 
the  woman  he  loved.  And  he  found  that 
gracious  sharing  of  his  interest  a  balm  to 
the  old  wound,  and  he  was  soothed  and 
beguiled  into  a  strange  new  acquiescence. 
It  would  come  again,  the  importunate 
trouble.  He  should,  in  a  very  few  min 
utes,  bring  down  upon  himself  that  gentle 
refusal,  more  poignant  in  its  kindness 
than  scorn  or  misprision  would  have  been. 

As  he  sat  there  touching  upon  one 
characteristic  and  another  of  his  Pollys, 
in  the  direct,  soldiery  fashion  that  cuts 
through  ordinary  modes  of  speech,  clean 
and  incisive  as  a  sword-point,  he  vaguely 
felt  that  this  was  only  a  postponement,  a 


Sicwora  55 


respite.  It  could  not  last,  this  extraor 
dinary,  unaccountable  resignation.  He 
was  not  sure  that  he  should  approve  of  it 
if  it  did.  But,  meantime,  he  had  not  told 
her  how  the  girls  had  enjoyed  riding  on 
the  Campagna,  and  how  they  had  fol 
lowed  the  hunt  one  day,  and  not  a  bone 
broken  !  Nor  how  they  had  got  to  know 
their  way  about  Rome  like  a  book,  and 
how — really,  the  subject  was  quite  inex 
haustible  ! 

The  sun  was  shining  like  mad  upon  the 
palaces  opposite,  and  as  he  looked  across 
the  flower-boxes  in  the  window,  he  felt 
quite  in  sympathy  with  this  high  noon 
of  light  and  color.  A  steamboat  shrieked 
beneath  the  window,  and  the  discordant 
sound  hardly  seemed  an  intrusion.  And 
then,  suddenly,  taking  him  quite  at  un 
awares,  a  firm  step  resounded  upon  the 
hard,  smooth  conglomerate  of  the  broad 
passage-way,  and — "  Here  is  Geof  !  "  his 
mother  announced.  "  You  would  hardly 
know  him,  Colonel  !  " 

The  Colonel  rose  to  his  feet  and  turned 


56  B  IDenetian  5une 


toward  the  door,  guiltily  conscious  that 
he  had  evaded  the  subject  of  Geof.  As 
his  eye  fell  upon  the  lithe,  vigorous  figure 
coming  toward  him,  he  recognized  the 
fact  that  evasion  was  no  longer  possible. 
An  instant  later  he  had  recognized  the 
young  architect  of  Western  proclivities 
whom  he  had  taken  such  a  liking  to  an 
hour  ago. 

"So  you  are  Geof,"  the  Colonel  ex 
claimed.  "  I  might  have  known  it,  too, 
though  I  had  quite  forgotten  that  you 
were  grown  up." 

"  And  you  are  Colonel  Steele  !  Why, 
this  is  great  !  You  used  to  be  first  rate 
to  me  when  I  was  a  little  chap.  Were 
those  your  daughters  in  the  gallery  ?  " 

"No;  my  nieces,"  said  the  Colonel, 
and  his  spirits  went  up  like  a  cork.  He 
knew  the  Signora  was  great  friends  with 
her  son,  but  she  evidently  understood 
where  to  draw  the  line  ! 

"  And  I  may  bring  them  to  see  you, 
Signora  ?  ' ' 

"  The  sooner  the  better.     Whv  not  this 


Signora  57 


afternoon  ?  We  can  have  tea  early  and 
get  a  couple  of  hours  on  the  lagoon  in  the 
pretty  light.  I  'm  afraid  you  have  an  en 
gagement,  have  n't  you,  Geof?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind  throwing  Kenwick 
over.  He  '11  keep,"  and  the  young  man 
stepped  to  the  other  window  and  flung  it 
open. 

GeofFry  Daymond  went  down  to  the 
door  with  his  mother's  old  friend,  but  he 
had  the  tact  not  to  offer  him  a  hand  across 
the  plank  to  the  gondola  ;  an  act  of  for 
bearance  which  was  not  lost  upon  the 
Colonel. 

11  Not  a  bit  like  his  mother,"  the  Colo 
nel  was  saying  to  himself.  "  Not  a  bit. 
Wonder  if  he  takes  after  his  father.  The 
kind  of  man  that  would  stick  in  a  wo 
man's  memory,  I  should  say." 

And  then,  just  as  the  gondola  was  pass 
ing  the  house  where  the  little  stone  girls 
keep  their  uncomprehending  outlook  upon 
the  world,  a  sharp  pang  took  him,  fol 
lowed  by  a  strange, — was  it  a  disloyal — 
sense  of  relief,  and  he  exclaimed,  under 
his  breath — "  I  never  asked  her  !  " 


OU  did  n't  tell  us  what  a  beauty 
Mrs.  Daymond  was,  Uncle  Dan," 
said  May,  as  they  sat  at  dinner  that 
evening. 

They  had  a  small  table  to  themselves, 
close  by  one  of  the  long  glass  doors  open 
ing  out  into  the  garden.  It  was  a  warm 
evening,  and  sweet,  vagrant  perfumes 
came  straying  in  at  the  open  door,  and  in 
the  momentary  hush  which  sometimes 
falls  upon  the  noisiest  table  d'hote,  pretty 
plashing  sounds  could  be  heard  in  the 
Canal  beyond  the  garden. 

"Not  a  very  easy  thing  to  do, "said 
Uncle  Dan,  setting  down  his  glass  of 
53 


B  3Fcsta  59 

claret,  with  a  wry  face.  He  felt  sure  that 
the  wine  had  been  kept  on  ice.  Ugh  ! 

"  Have  you  known  her  a  longtime?  " 

"  Yes,  Polly  ;  since  before  you  were 
born." 

"  What  an  age  !  "  cried  May.  "  And 
you  never  told  us  a  word  about  her  ! ' ' 

"  Fact  is,"  Uncle  Dan  explained,  "  I 
have  n't  seen  her  more  than  once  in  five 
or  six  years,  and  then  only  over  here. 
You  '11  find  people  don't  want  to  hear 
about  your  travels." 

Really,  quite  an  ingenious  turn,  the 
Colonel  flattered  himself,— to  account  for 
the  passion  of  a  life-time  as  an  incident 
of  travel  !  He  was  so  exhilarated  over 
this  feat  that  he  was  emboldened  to  pur 
sue  the  subject.  Besides,  big  Polly  had 
not  spoken,  and  he  could  not  suffer  any 
tribute  to  the  lady  of  his  allegiance  to  go 
by  default. 

"  What  did  you  think  of  her,  Polly  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"I  can  only  say,"  Pauline  declared, 
with  an  earnestness  of  conviction  that 


60  B  iDenetian  $une 


was  even  more  expressive  than  her  sis 
ter's  encomiums,  "  that  if  she  had  not  in 
vited  us  girls  to  go  in  her  gondola  it  would 
have  spoiled  the  afternoon." 

"  But  the  son  is  very  nice  ;  did  n't  you 
think  so?"  asked  May,  seized,  in  her 
turn,  with  the  spirit  of  investigation. 
"  He  did  n't  even  seem  conceited,  which 
clever  people  usually  are. ' ' 

"Yes,  indeed  !  he  is  very  nice;  how 
did  you  like  him,  Uncle  Dan  ?  " 

"Geof?"  Uncle  Dan  repeated,  rather 
absently  ;  "  How  did  I  like  Geof?  Oh, 
I  should  say  he  was  turning  out  very  well. 
But  I  thought  you  girls  had  the  best  of 
it ;  "  whence  it  may  be  gathered  that  Mrs. 
Daymond  had  not  only  borrowed  the  two 
girls,  but  had  offered  her  son  as  compen 
sation  to  the  Colonel. 

"  How  pretty  the  two  gondolas  will 
look  going  about  together  when  we  get 
our  new  flags,"  said  May.  "  It  will  be  a 
regular  little  flotilla." 

"  Are  n't  you  expecting  a  good  deal  of 
Mrs.  Daymond?"  Pauline  demurred. 


B  jfesta  6 1 

"Why  of  course  we  shall  go  about  to 
gether.  She  said  she  hoped  to  see  a  great 
deal  of  us  while  we  were  here. ' ' 

The  Colonel  emptied  his  claret-glass, 
while  a  sense  of  warmth  and  well-being 
stole  through  his  veins,  that  made  him 
think  he  must  have  been  mistaken  about 
that  ice. 

"Are  you  going  to  fly  the  stars- and- 
stripes  ?  "  he  asked.  He  had  never  con 
sidered  the  prow  of  a  gondola  a  very  fit 
ting  situation  for  the  flag  he  had  fought 
for, — but  perhaps  the  Pollys  knew  best. 

"No,  indeed,"  said  May.  "We  are 
going  to  have  something  ever  so  much 
prettier  than  that." 

"Ah,  Polly  !  There  's  nothing  prettier 
than  the  stars-and-stripes,"  the  Colonel 
protested. 

"  May  means  more  original,"  .said  Pau 
line.  "She  has  had  one  of  her  happy 
thoughts." 

"You  see,  Uncle  Dan,"  May  explained, 
"  there  are  such  a  lot  of  national  flags 
on  the  gondolas,  and  it  seems  so  stupid 


62  B  Venetian  3une 

not  to  have  something  different.  So  Mr. 
Daymond  and  I  have  concocted  quite  a 
new  scheme, — or  rather  the  idea  was 
mine  and  he  is  going  to  paint  them.  We 
are  going  to  have  a  sea-horse  painted  on 
red  bunting,  in  tawny  colors,  golds  and 
browns  ;  and  Mr.  Daymond  thinks  he 
shall  make  one  for  their  gondola  on  a  dark 
blue  ground.  Sha'  n't  you  feel  proud  to 
sail  the  Venetian  lagoons  with  a  sea-horse 
at  the  mast-head?  " 

"  Proud  as  a  peacock  !  And  the  young 
man  is  going  to  paint  it  for  you  ? ' ' 

"Yes  ;  is  n't  that  good  of  him  ?  And 
sha'  n't  we  look  pretty  ?  " 

"Never  saw  the  time  3^011  didn't," 
Uncle  Dan  was  tempted  to  say.  But  he 
flattered  himself  that  he  never  spoiled  his 
nieces,  and  so  he  remarked  instead,  with 
his  most  crafty  grimace  :  "  No  ;  you  '11 
probably  look  like  frights;"  which,  if 
the  girls  had  not  been  quite  case-har 
dened  against  his  thinly  disguised  com 
pliments,  might  have  had  just  the  dis 
astrous  effect  he  wished  to  avoid. 


B  tf  esta  63 


Truth  to  tell,  they  were  neither  of  them 
very  susceptible  to  flattery,  for  neither  of 
them  was  in  the  least  self-centred.  Even 
May,  who  was  far  from  sharing  her  sis 
ter's  mellow  warmth  of  interest  in  other 
people, — even  May,  with  all  the  crudities 
and  shortcomings  of  youth  still  in  the 
ascendant,  was  too  much  occupied  with 
her  rapidly  acquired  views  of  the  phenom 
ena  about  her,  to  pay  much  attention  to 
the  perhaps  equally  interesting  phenom 
enon  of  her  own  personality.  The  im 
pression  left  upon  the  two  girls  by  their 
half  hour's  talk  with  Geoffry  Daymond 
was  characteristic  of  each.  May  ap 
proved  of  him  because  he  had  been 
interested  in  her  ideas  ;  and  Pauline  liked 
him  because  he  had  been  interested  in 
her  sister. 

Whatever  the  young  man's  impressions 
may  have  been,  it  may  as  well  be  stated 
at  once,  that  in  the  course  of  that  tea- 
drinking  he  made  up  his  mind  that  his 
mother  really  had  a  right  to  expect  him 
to  stay  with  her  for  the  next  week  or  two, 


64  B  Venetian  $une 


and  that  he  should  tell  Oliver  Kenwick 
to-morrow,  that  he  would  have  to  get 
somebody  else  for  that  tramp  through  the 
Titian  country.  What  did  he  care  about 
the  Titian  country,  any  way  ?  Here  was 
Titian  himself  here  in  Venice,  and  lots 
besides.  He  would  pitch  into  those  flags 
to-morrow.  That  was  really  a  very  happy 
thought  of  the  talkative  one.  He  won 
dered  if  the  quiet  one  would  say  more  if 
she  got  a  chance  ;  she  did  not  look  stu 
pid.  And  that  reflection  had  struck  him 
as  so  preposterous,  that  he  had  almost 
interrupted  her  sister  in  her  expression 
of  opinion  on  the  subject  of  the  famous 
bronze  chargers  that  seem  always  on  the 
point  of  plunging  down  from  the  front 
of  San  Marco  into  the  Piazza,  to  the  de 
struction  of  the  babies  and  pigeons  there 
assembled,  to  ask  :  "  Miss  Beverly  what 
do  you  like  best  in  Venice  ?  ' ' 

"  The  gondola,"  said  Pauline,  after  an 
instant's  reflection, — a  little  pause  which 
proved  to  be  one  of  her  idiosyncracies. 

''The  gondola?"  he  repeated,  doubt- 


B  3f  esta  65 

fully.  "The  gondola  isn't  very  much 
by  itself." 

"  But  the  gondola  never  is  by  itself. 
It 's  the  centre  of  everything.  It 's  all 
Venice  and  a  living  creature  besides, — 
something  like  a  person's  heart.  Of 
course  I  don't  mean  the  gondolas  on  the 
souvenir  spoons!"  she  added,  with  the 
little  ripple,  that  was  so  much  prettier 
than  a  definite  smile.  Decidedly,  Miss 
Beverly  was  not  stupid. 

"  You  row,  of  course  ?  ' '  May  had  con 
sidered  her  question  to  be  quite  in  line 
with  the  conversation.  "  Is  it  very  diffi 
cult  ?" 

"  Not  after  you  get  the  knack.  That 
is,  the  forward  oar  gets  going  after  a 
while.  I  rather  think  you  would  have  to 
begin  almost  in  long  clothes  as  these 
gondoliers  do  to  get  anything  like  their 
skill  in  really  handling  the  boat." 

And  now,  in  reply  to  Uncle  Dan's  art 
ful  substitute  for  a  compliment,  one  of 
the  prospective  frights  remarked  :  "  Mr. 
Day mon d  says  they  have  a  lighter  oar 


66  B  Venetian  $une 


that  he  used  to  row  with  when  he  was  a 
boy.  He  is  going  to  get  it  out  for  us  to 
morrow,  and  then  we  must  all  learn  to 
row." 

' '  I  think  I  should  prefer  to  learn  by 
observation,"  Uncle  Dan  demurred,  as 
he  pulled  his  stiff  leg  out  from  under  the 
table.  Upon  which,  dinner  being  over, 
the  girls  went  off  in  search  of  their  wraps, 
while  the  Colonel  stepped  out  between 
the  glass  doors,  and  strolled  down  to  the 
bottom  of  the  garden,  where  the  water 
lapped  the  stone  parapet. 

The  dusk  had  gathered  and  the  stars 
were  coming  out.  The  water  was  dotted 
with  gondola-lights  that  twinkled  here 
and  there,  like  detached  will-o'-the  wisps, 
the  black  hulls  of  the  boats  not  being 
clearly  distinguishable  in  the  shadow. 
Kvery  gondola  was  out,  excepting  the 
few  unlucky  ones  that  were  detained  for 
ferry  service  ;  for  there  was  to  be  &festa 
this  evening,  and  the  forestieri, — by 
which  pretty  woodsy  name  the  tourist  is 
designated  in  the  most  poetic  of  tongues, 


B  tfeeta  67 


— could  be  counted  upon  to  pay  fancy 
prices. 

The  Colonel,  secure  in  his  possession 
of  Vittorio,  took  no  part  in  the  bargain 
ing  that  was  going  on  at  the  hotel  steps, 
a  few  yards  away,  and  all  along  the  line 
of  the  garden  wall.  He  was  standing 
beside  the  iron  railing,  pulling  at  a  con 
templative  cigar,  and  listening,  with 
considerable  relish,  to  the  wrangling  of 
the  gondoliers,  when  he  heard  a  voice 
just  under  the  wall,  saying:  "  Buona 
sera,  Signore  !  It's  Nanni." 

The  Colonel  had  not  observed  that  one 
of  the  shadowy  barks  had  glided  close 
in  under  the  wall  at  his  feet. 

"Why,  Nanni!"  he  exclaimed;  and 
reaching  down  over  the  railing,  he  clasped 
a  strong  brown  hand. 

The  man  was  standing  at  the  stern  of 
the  gondola,  steadying  the  oar  with  one 
hand.  He  had  flung  his  hat  to  the  floor 
of  the  boat,  and  as  he  stood  there,  bare 
headed,  the  garden  lights  shining  full 
upon  his  upturned  face,  he  made  a  strik- 


68  B  Venetian  $une 


ing  picture.  His  hair  was  absolutely 
black,  and  his  face  was  of  the  pure  Ital 
ian  type,  very  dark,  and  cast  in  noble 
lines.  About  the  mouth  and  eyes,  a 
touch  of  austere  melancholy  was  discern 
ible,  even  now,  in  the  animation  of  the 
moment.  He  was  like  his  brother, 
though  his  face  lacked  the  sunlit  quality 
which  was  his  brother's  chief  charm  of 
countenance.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
intelligence  of  his  brother's  face  was  here 
developed  into  something  higher  and 
more  serious, — higher  and  sadder,  the 
Colonel  thought,  in  the  moment's  pause 
that  followed.  He  had  not  seen  this  pro 
tege  of  his  for  ten  years,  and  the  years 
had  left  their  impress  upon  him. 

' '  Vittorio  has  met  with  a  slight  acci 
dent,"  Nanni  was  saying.  "He  has 
twisted  his  wrist,  and  if  he  rows  this 
evening  it  will  get  worse.  Will  the  Sig- 
nore  permit  me  to  act  as  substitute  ?  ' ' 

The  Signore  looked  disturbed. 

"  I  don't  know,  Nanni,  how  that  would 
work,"  he  said.  "  My  nieces,  you  know. 
I  'm  afraid  they  would  find  you  out." 


B  3festa  69 

"  No  fear  of  that  Signore.  I  'm  as 
good  a  gondolier  as  ever  I  was,  and  I  can 
hold  my  tongue." 

The  Colonel  looked  at  him  critically. 
To  the  initiated,  there  was  a  good  deal 
both  in  the  man's  speech  and  bearing  to 
rouse  suspicion.  A  subtle  difference  that 
would  hardly  be  defined  as  superiority  ; 
was  it  not  rather  something  contradictory, 
not  quite  homogeneous,  and  in  so  far 
disadvantageous?  The  Colonel  was  not 
addicted  to  careful  analysis  of  his  im 
pressions,  and  he  felt  himself  cornered. 

"  I  hope  you  won't  misunderstand  me, 
Nanni,"  he  said,  apologetically.  "  I  'm 
immensely  proud  of  you  ; — it  isn't  that. 
But, — well,  it 's  not  my  way  to  talk  about 
things.  I  suppose  it's  crochety,  but 
somehow,  I  like  to  keep  things  separate, 
you  know.  If  you  talk  about  a  thing  it 
usually  spoils  it." 

It  did  not  once  occur  to  the  Colonel 
that  the  man  of  education,  and  presumably 
of  some  social  standing,  would  feel  any 
aversion  to  a  temporary  relinquishment 
of  these  advantages.  To  the  padrone \ 


70  B  Venetian  $une 


the  skilled  physician  who  owed  to  him 
his  education,  was  still,  first  and  fore 
most,  the  son  of  his  old  gondolier,  in 
whom,  when  a  bright  boy  of  fifteen,  a 
week  in  hospital  with  a  broken  arm  had 
aroused  a  consuming  ambition  to  be  a 
doctor.  The  education,  the  profession, 
seemed  to  the  Colonel — perhaps  because 
it  was  primarily  due  to  him, — accidental 
and  extraneous.  Fundamentally  he  was 
still  the  gondolier's  son,  the  member  of  a 
caste  too  imperative  and  enduring  in 
character  to  yield  to  circumstances. 

And  the  really  noteworthy  feature  of 
the  situation  was  the  fact  that  the  gon 
dolier's  son  fully  shared  the  view  of  the 
padrone.  Once  in  Venice,  among  his 
own  people,  Giovanni  Scuro  felt  as 
thoroughly  at  home  in  the  character  of 
gondolier,  as  if  he  had  never  learned  the 
meaning  of  the  word  science.  Hence  he 
could  answer,  with  perfect  sincerity  : 
"Si,  Signore  ;  I  understand.  But  you 
may  trust  me.  And  you  will  go  out 
with  me  this  evening  ?  " 


B  tf esta  71 


"  Why,  yes  ;  I  suppose  we  had  better," 
said  the  Colonel,  somewhat  reassured. 

"And  to-morrow,  if  Vittorio  is  not 
able  to  row  ?  Of  course  that  is  as  the 
Signore  wishes.  Another  gondolier  can 
be  had  to-morrow  for  the  asking  ;  but  to 
night,  the  prices  are  appalling.  They 
have  no  consciences,  these  men." 

"We'll  see  how  it  works  to-night. 
Ah  !  there  are  my  nieces.  We  will  meet 
you  at  the  door.  And,  by  the  way, 
Nanni,  have  you  picked  up  any  Eng 
lish  ?" 

"  No,  Signore  ;  only  French." 

As  the  gondola  came  up  to  the  landing 
the  party  stepped  aboard  as  quickly  as 
might  be,  to  clear  the  way  for  others  who 
were  waiting  their  turn,  and  it  occurred 
to  Uncle  Dan  that  the  girls  might,  after 
all,  not  notice  the  new  man  at  the  oar. 
But  he  had  reckoned  without  May's  ob 
servant  eyes.  The  moment  the  boat  was 
free  of  the  crowd,  she  turned  sharp  about 
and  looked  at  the  gondolier. 

"Why,      Uncle      Dan,"      she     cried. 


72  B  Venetian  5une 


''We've  got  a  new  man!  Did  you 
know  it?" 

"  Yes  ;  Vittorio  has  twisted  his  hand, 
and  his  brother  has  come  to  take  his 
place." 

"  His  brother  ?  Oh,  yes  ;  he  does  look 
like  him.  We  were  lucky  to  get  him, 
were  we  not?  " 

"  What  a  pity  Vittorio  should  have 
hurt  his  hand  !  "  said  Pauline.  "  I  hope 
it  's  nothing  serious.  He  was  such  a 
nice  man." 

"No,"  said  the  Colonel,  incautiously. 
"  His  brother  says  it  's  nothing  serious." 

"But  he  can't  know  much  about  it," 
Pauline  urged.  "  Don't  you  think  he 
ought  to  see  a  doctor  ?  ' ' 

"I  rather  think  he  will,  to-morrow, 
unless  it 's  all  right  again." 

"  If  it  's  a  sprain  he  can't  be  too  care 
ful  with  it,"  she  insisted. 

' '  What  is  Italian  for  sprain  ?  ' '  asked 
May.  "  I  want  to  tell  the  man  to  have 
a  doctor. ' ' 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Uncle 


B  ffesta  73 

Dan,    trembling    for    his    guilty    secret. 
"  I'll  tell  him." 

"How  can  you  tell  him,  if  you  don't 
know  how  ?  ' '  May  argued.  Then,  turning 
abruptly,  and  glancing  up  into  the  dark, 
intent,  forward-looking  face,  just  visible 
in  the  uncertain  lights  of  the  Canal  : 
"Hasn't  your  brother  seen  a  doctor?" 
she  asked. 

"Si,  Signorina,"  Nanni  replied,  with 
out  an  instant's  hesitation. 

"  And  what  does  he  think  is  the  trou 
ble?" 

"  A  slight  sprain,"  said  Nanni;  "he 
hopes  it  is  nothing  serious  !  " 

"  That  was  very  sensible  of  you,"  said 
May  ;  "to  send  for  a  doctor  at  once. 
There,  Uncle  Dan,  now  we  know  the 
Italian  for  sprain.  I  believe  in  always 
trying  to  say  everything!"  in  which 
startling  statement  the  young  girl  ad 
mitted  more  than  she  had  intended. 

They  were  just  passing  the  Palazzo 
Darino,  where  a  gondola  lurked  in  the 
shadow. 


74  B  Venetian  3-une 


' '  We  shall  hardly  see  them  in  the 
crowd,"  Uncle  Dan  remarked.  "What's 
your  idea,  Nanni  ?  Think  you  can  keep 
us  out  of  the  jam  ?" 

"  Si,  Signore  ;  I  know  a  place  where 
they  wont  crowd  us." 

' '  What  a  funny  name  that  is  for  a  man, ' ' 
May  exclaimed. 

"  It 's  short  for  Giovanni.  I  got  in  the 
way  of  calling  him  that  when  he  was  a 
little  shaver  and  used  to  row  me  about 
with  his  father." 

The  Canal  was  twinkling  with  gondola 
lights,  and  as  they  approached  the  broad 
arch  of  the  Rialto  the  crowd  became 
greater,  obliging  them  to  pause  now  and 
then,  while  the  dip  of  multitudinous  oars 
made  itself  heard,  a  delicious  under 
tone  to  the  shouts  and  execrations  of  ex 
cited  gondoliers.  Presently,  however, 
they  had  cleared  the  bridge,  and  a  few 
strokes  of  the  oar  brought  them  into  a 
quiet  little  haven  formed  by  two  big  boats 
moored  alongside  the  fish-market.  As 
they  came  to  a  stop  they  could  already 


21  tfesta  75 

hear  the  music  floating  round  the  great 
bend  of  the  Canal.  The  hulls  of  the  two 
fishing  boats  loomed  tall  and  dark  at 
either  end  of  the  gondola,  while  the  rays 
of  a  lamp  in  the  arcade  over  yonder  fell 
athwart  the  yellow-brown  sail  of  one  of 
them,  reefed  loosely  about  the  mast. 
There  were  a  good  many  people  on  the 
quay,  but  they  were  a  quiet  gathering. 
The  more  aggressive  members  of  the  Ve 
netian  populace  are  pretty  sure  to  get 
afloat  on  such  an  occasion,  and  a  dozen 
different  kinds  of  irresponsible  craft  were 
being  propelled,  with  more  or  less  skill, 
and  a  distracting  absence  of  etiquette, 
among  the  decorous  gondolas,  whose 
long-suffering  masters  shouted  themselves 
hoarse  in  their  efforts  to  enforce  the  con 
ventional  rules  of  the  highway. 

Presently  one  of  the  gondolas  glided  in 
alongside  the  Colonel's,  and  almost  be 
fore  their  respective  occupants  could  rec 
ognize  one  another  the  gunwales  of  the 
two  boats  had  been  securely  lashed  to 
gether. 


76  B  Venetian  3-une 


"We're  just  in  time,"  said  Geoffry. 
"  We  could  see  the  reflection  of  the  lights 
around  the  bend,  when  we  were  in  mid 
stream.  Ah,  there  it  comes  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  a  brilliant,  variegated 
light  fell  upon  the  mass  of  gondolas  a  few 
rods  up  the  Canal,  and  a  moment  later 
the  huge  structure  of  red,  white,  and  green 
lamps,  came  drifting  down-stream.  It 
represented  a  great  temple  with  dome-like 
roof  topped  by  a  crown  of  lights,  glittering 
against  the  dark  background  of  the  night. 
As  it  drew  nearer,  the  throng  of  boats  in 
its  path  thinned  a  little,  and  broken  re 
flections  of  the  gleaming  lights  danced 
between  the  gondolas,  and  sparkled  in 
the  oar-drops. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  architec 
ture  of  it?"  May  asked,  in  her  fresh 
young  voice,  that  seemed  to  dissipate  il 
lusion,  like  a  ray  of  plain  daylight  let  in 
upon  a  stage  scene. 

Daymond  laughed. 

' '  I  don' t  perceive  any, ' '  he  said.  ' '  Do 
you?" 


B  tfesta  77 

"Well,  I  don't  know;  I  supposed  it 
was  meant  for  a  building." 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Pauline.  "  It 's  meant 
for  a  dream.  Don't  wake  us  up,  May  ! 
See  ;  they  're  stopping  in  front  of  the  Ca' 
Doro." 

The  movement  of  the  great  barge  had 
been  so  slow,  that  it  had  halted  almost 
unawares  in  front  of  the  beautiful  palace, 
and  straightway  a  rosy  bengal  light  lit  up 
the  carvings  of  the  fairy-like  facade  with 
a  magical  effect.  The  band,  lurking 
melodramatically  under  the  gleaming 
arches  of  the  barge,  struck  up  a  prelude, 
and  presently  a  soprano  voice  rose  high 
and  strong  above  the  wind  and  stringed 
instruments,  ringing  superbly  out  across 
the  water.  The  fantastic  impression  of 
the  scene  was  so  strong  that  it  seemed  as 
if  the  visible  brilliance  of  the  shining 
lights  had  entered  into  the  voice  itself, 
giving  it  a  weird  and  uncanny  splendor. 
The  vast  floating  audience  listened,  mo 
tionless  and  silent,  until  the  last  note 
went  out  like  a  light  suddenly  extin- 


78  n  Venetian  $une 

guished.  Then,  after  a  gust  of  hand-clap 
ping  had  subsided,  the  glittering  barge 
moved  forward  once  more,  the  dip  of 
a  hundred  oars  plashing  softly  in  its 
wake. 

When  the  mass  of  the  attendant  flo 
tilla  had  passed  the  mouth  of  their  little 
haven,  the  two  friendly  gondolas  glided 
out  amid-stream,  in  time  to  see  the  crown 
of  light  lowered  within  the  dome,  for  the 
passage  under  the  bridge.  The  reflec 
tions  played  upon  the  face  of  the  arch 
until  the  massive  granite  seemed  hardly 
more  real  than  the  fairy-like  temple  of 
light  itself;  and  then  suddenly,  the  flick 
ering  colors  vanished  from  the  face  of  the 
bridge,  and  were  shining  upon  the  broad 
under-span  of  the  arch.  An  instant  later 
it  was  past  and  over,  and  May  and  Geof- 
fry  were  comparing  impressions  with 
great  earnestness  on  her  part  and  undis 
guised  relish  on  his. 

How  pretty  the  light  must  be  on  the 
Virgin  and  the  Angel  on  the  other  side 
of  the  bridge,"  said  Pauline. 


&  3f  eeta  79 

"Yes,"  Mrs.  Daymond  answered  ;  "I 
was  thinking  of  that." 

Then  came  a  mysterious  gliding  of  the 
two  gondolas,  Indian-file,  down  dark, 
narrow  canals,  where  were  glimpses, 
through  low  passage-ways  into  dimly 
lighted  squares.  On  one  of  the  bridges, 
as  they  passed  beneath  it,  a  hollow  foot 
step  sounded,  and  as  they  looked  back 
they  could  see  a  cloaked  figure  leaning 
upon  the  stone  parapet.  Now  and  then 
a  chance  gas-lamp  cast  upon  the  wall 
beside  them  the  shadow  of  the  gondo 
lier's  swaying  figure,  vanishing  then  in 
the  black  water  like  a  stealthy  suicide. 
Pauline  looked  round  once  or  twice, 
involuntarily,  to  make  sure  that  the 
man  was  still  there,  and  once  May  said  : 
' '  Nanni,  could  we  get  past  if  we  were 
to  meet  any  one  ?  " 

"Si,  Signorina,"  the  grave  voice  made 
answer  ;  and  Uncle  Dan  felt  agreeably 
confirmed  in  his  impression  that  Nanni 
was  to  be  trusted. 

Nearly  two  hours  later,  the  girls  were 


80  B  Venetian  3une 


awakened  from  their  first  sleep  by  the 
soft  plashing  sound  of  myriad  oars.  In 
a  moment  they  were  standing  on  the 
balcony  in  their  pretty  cashmere  wrap 
pers,  leaning  on  the  cushions  of  the 
stone  balustrade.  On  came  the  gleaming 
colors  of  Italy,  not  a  single  light  extin 
guished  during  the  long,  slow  passage 
down  the  Canal  ;  nor  did  the  floating 
escort  seem  diminished  by  so  much  as  a 
single  boat. 

A  crimson  bengal  light  was  flushing 
the  face  of  the  Salute,  as  the  luminous 
apparition  halted  before  it,  and  a  burst 
of  music  rose  from  the  barge.  Over 
yonder,  beyond  the  long,  low  line  of  the 
Giudecca,  a  pensive  old  moon  was  com 
ing  up,  slow  and  mist-obscured,  as  if 
reluctant  to  rise  upon  a  world  so  well 
able  to  dispense  with  its  light. 

' '  The  old  moon  always  goes  to  your 
heart,"  said  Pauline. 

"  Yes  ;  but  it  will  be  young  again  in 
a  week  or  two,"  May  observed,  consol- 


B  tfesta  81 

ingly  ;  and  at  that  instant  an  emerald 
light  struck  full  upon  the  white  fa?ade 
of  San  Giorgio,  and  straightway  the  poor 
old  moon  was  consigned  to  the  oblivion 
it  clearly  coveted. 

6 


.  <5atberfng  poppies. 


"TTHIS    is    Vittorio's 


—     gondola,  is  it  not, 
Nanni?"    asked   May,  who 
had  an  eye  for  details  and  had 
^T         instantly  identified  the  boat. 
"Si,  Signorina." 

They  had  spent  the  morning  sight 
seeing,  and  now  they  were,  according  to 
Uncle  Dan,  having  their  reward,  coast 
ing  along  the  outer  shore  of  the  Giu- 
decca,  in  the  heavenly  afternoon  light. 
The  Colonel  much  preferred  the  easy 
social  conditions  of  the  gondola  to  the 
restraint,  not  to  say  chill,  of  church  and 
chapel,  where  a  man  must  not  wear  his 
hat  nor  speak  above  a  whisper. 

May  was  sitting,  as  she  liked  to  do,  in 
the  little  gondola  chair,  whence  she  com- 
82 


(Batbenng  poppies  83 


manded  every  point  of  the  compass ;  a 
position  which  had  the  further  advantage 
of  facilitating  communication  with  the 
gondolier. 

"Why  don't  you  use  your  own  gon 
dola  ?  "  she  persisted. 

For  an  instant  Uncle  Dan's  loyalty 
wavered,  and  he  wondered  whether  Polly 
were  not  perhaps  a  trifle  forward  for  so 
young  a  girl.  He  had  not  been  struck 
by  it  before,  and  even  now  he  would 
have  challenged  such  a  heresy  in  another  ; 
but,  really, — 

"  Because  this  is  the  better  gondola," 
Nanni  replied,  in  the  grave,  impersonal 
tone  which  was  in  such  marked  contrast 
with  his  brother's  eager  alacrity. 

"I  wish  Vittorio  would  get  well," 
May  exclaimed,  impatiently  ;  "  this  man 
is  n't  half  as  nice." 

"Don't  you  think  so?"  Pauline  que 
ried.  "  He  is  a  perfect  gondolier." 

"  Yes  ;  but  he  is  so  unapproachable. 
One  could  never  get  confidential  with 
him  ;  one  would  never  ask  him  about 


84  B  Venetian  $une 

his  wife  and  children,  and  think  how 
delighted  Vittorio  was  to  tell  us  about 
each  individual  bambino  !  ' ' 

' '  It  would  not  be  of  much  use  to  ask 
him,"  Uncle  Dan  interposed  hastily. 
"  For  he  hasn't  any." 

"  I  have  an  idea  he  is  poor,"  said  Pau 
line.  ' '  Even  poorer  than  the  rest  of 
them.  I  wonder  what  is  the  reason." 

"So  do  I,"  said  May.  "  Nanni,  is 
your  gondola  a  very  old  one  ?  ' ' 

•"  Si,  Signorina  ;  very  old." 

''What  a  pity  !  It  must  be  very  bad 
for  you.  Which  is  your  ferry  ?  " 

"  I  don't  belong  to  any." 

"  But  I  thought  every  gondolier  be 
longed  to  a  ferry." 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  Is  n't  that  so  ?  "  May  insisted. 

"Si,  Signorina,  but  I  am  no  longer  a 
gondolier. ' ' 

"Why  ;  what  are  you  ?" 

At  this  juncture  Uncle  Dan  felt  it  im 
peratively  necessary  to  interpose  again. 

"  That 's  San  dementi,"  he  observed, 


<3atberfnc;  poppies  85 


indicating  an  island  half-a-mile  away, 
composed  apparently,  of  red  brick  and 
window-glass. 

"  How  lovely  !  "  May  exclaimed  ;  and 
the  indiscriminating  respou.se  betrayed 
inattention. 

"What  are  you?  "  she  asked  again. 

"I  do  not  live  in  Venice,  Signorina  ; 
my  home  is  in  Milan." 

"In  Milan  ?    What  do  you  do  there  ?  ' ' 

"  I  am  attached  to  a  hospital." 

There  was  something  peculiarly  provo 
cative  of  curiosity  in  the  laconic  replies 
of  the  man.  May  wondered  whether  his 
reticence  was  due  to  modesty  or  to  morose- 
ness.  Perhaps  she  could  find  out. 

"What  do  you  do  at  the  hospital?" 
she  asked. 

For  the  first  time  his  eyes  met  hers 
directly,  as  he  said,  with  something  al 
most  like  a  challenge  in  his  voice  :  "I 
am  one  of  its  servants,  Signorina." 

Yes,  May  thought,  it  was  moroseness  ; 
he  was  unhappy,  and  no  wonder. 

"  What  a  pity  !  "  she  cried,  with  very 


86  B  IDenetfan  5une 


genuine  compassion  in  her  voice.  "  It 
can't  be  half  so  nice  as  being  a  gondo 
lier." 

But  Nanni  was  again  intent  upon  his 
work,  rowing  with  long,  steady  strokes, 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  course  of  the 
gondola. 

"  Do  you  like  it  as  well  ?  "  she  asked, 
with  a  quite  inexplicable  sense  of  temer 
ity.  She  felt  herself  on  the  verge  of 
being  overawed  by  the  stately  reticence 
of  this  hospital  servant. 

"It  is  my  work,"  said  Nanni,  in  a 
gentler  tone.  "  A  man's  work  is  his 
life." 

"  But  if  you  had  a  good  gondola  and  a 
place  at  a  traghctto,  wouldn't  you  rather 
come  back  to  Venice  ?  ' ' 

"  No,  Signorina  ;  I  love  my  work." 

"  Polly,  you  ought  to  have  been  a 
lawyer,"  Uncle  Dan  remarked,  highly 
amused  at  the  insuccess  of  her  catechizing, 
which  he  by  this  time  perceived  to  be 
harmless. 

They  had  turned  in  to  one  of  the  canals 


(Satbering  poppies  »7 

of  the  Giudecca,  that  great  crescent  island 
whose  curve  follows  the  southern  line  of 
the  city,  as  the  outer  arc  of  a  rainbow 
follows  the  inner.  Not  a  breath  stirred 
the  water  of  the  canal,  upon  which  theirs 
was  the  only  moving  craft.  Moored  close 
to  the  low,  brick  coping  of  the  quay, 
which  bordered  one  side  of  the  rio,  were 
two  or  three  fishing  boats,  their  broad 
hulls  black,  their  rudder  arms  rudely 
carved  and  gaily  decorated.  Here  a  gor 
geous  red  sail  hung  loose  in  the  still  air  ; 
there,  a  voluminous  brown  net,  bordered 
with  rings  and  bobbers,  was  stretched 
between  two  stout  masts,  drying  in  the 
sun.  Curious  great  bulging  baskets, 
dingy  brown  in  color  and  shaped  like 
giant  sea-urchins,  depended  from  the 
gunwales,  half  immersed  in  water,  the 
mortal  remains  of  small,  crab-like  crea 
tures  sticking  to  their  sides.  All  this 
picturesqueness,  and  more  besides,  was 
reflected  in  the  placid  water.  On  the  one 
hand  was  the  quay,  with  its  irregular 
row  of  houses  done  in  delicious  sun-baked 


B  Venetian  3une 


colors,  in  front  of  which  women  in  sul 
phur  shawls  and  children  in  variegated 
rags  were  sunning  themselves  and  pass 
ing  the  time  of  day.  On  the  other  side, 
a  tumble-down  wall  of  brick,  that  once 
was  red,  rose  out  of  the  water  in  such 
formless  dilapidation  that  one  could  not 
tell  where  the  reality  merged  into  the 
reflection  ;  while  masses  of  verdure  from 
a  hidden  garden  tossed  their  heads  above 
it,  or  tumbled  over  it  as  if  enchanted  to 
get  a  glimpse  of  themselves  in  the  dark, 
cool  water  below.  A  wooden  bridge 
spanned  the  canal,  glassed  perfectly  in 
the  still  water,  and  somebody's  wash, 
hung  out  to  dry  at  one  end  of  the  rustic 
railing,  blended  acceptably  in  the  quaint 
harmony  of  the  picture. 

Nanni  had  been  rowing  slowly,  and 
just  there,  perceiving  that  the  attention 
of  his  passengers  was  arrested,  he  stayed 
his  oar.  A  bird,  hidden  somewhere 
among  the  foliage  in  the  garden,  chose 
that  moment  for  making  a  melodious 
observation  to  his  mate,  while  a  some- 


poppies  89 


what  timid  and  tentative  baby-voice  from 
the  quay  lisped  :  "  Un  soldino"  not  with 
any  business  intention  but  merely  by  way 
of  practice.  The  whole  thing  was  so  in 
credibly  pretty  that  there  w^as  nothing  to 
be  said  about  it,  and  for  a  number  of 
seconds  no  one  spoke. 

Then  May  exclaimed  :  <l  I  'm  so  afraid 
somebody  will  say  something  !  ' '  upon 
which  the  others  laughed,  and  instantly 
the  oar  \vas  put  in  motion  again,  the 
gondola  gliding  forward  under  the  bridge 
and  past  other  ruinous,  verdure-crowned 
walls. 

' '  What  a  shame  this  man  should  not 
be  a  gondolier,"  May  cried,  returning  to 
the  charge,  with  unabated  interest.  "  It 
does  seem  as  if  we  might  perhaps  do 
something  about  it." 

She  glanced  up  at  the  grave  face,  half 
inclined  to  press  the  subject  further.  The 
man  was  gazing  straight  over  the  prow 
of  the  gondola,  not  more  intent  than  his 
brother  often  was,  yet  the  young  girl  felt 
abashed  and  deterred  from. her  purpose. 


go  B  Venetian  $une 


If  it  were  Vittorio,  she  told  herself,  she 
might  be  sure  that  the  dark  features 
would  break  into  a  flashing  smile  when 
she  spoke  to  him.  But  this  man  could 
not  be  depended  upon  to  look  pleased 
at  any  casual  notice  bestowed  upon  him. 
She  wondered  why  ;  she  wondered  why 
he  was  so  different.  Had  he  always  been 
like  that,  or  was  it  his  life  of  exile  and 
servitude?  Nothing  could  convince  her 
that  he  really  liked  his  work  in  the  hos 
pital,  far  away  from  his  beautiful  Venice. 
There  was  some  mystery  about  it,  and 
she  hated  to  be  baffled. 

"Yes,  I  always  like  poking  about  in 
the  Giudecca,"  Uncle  Dan  was  saying. 
"  It 's  chock  full  of  pretty  bits,  and  then 
you  keep  coming  out  on  the  lagoon 
again,  and  like  as  not  there  are  marsh- 
birds  or  people  wading  about  after  shell 
fish.  There  's  always  something  going 
on  on  the  lagoons." 

' '  Why,  I  should  have  said  that  the 
lagoon  was  the  quietest  place  in  the 
world,"  Pauline  remarked. 


<3atbertng  poppies  91 


"  It  is,"  Uncle  Dan  admitted.  "That 's 
why  you  are  so  sure  to  notice  any  little 
thing  that  happens  to  be  going  on  !  " 

Meanwhile  the  gondolier  had  uncon 
sciously  suited  his  action  to  their  word, 
and  they  had  come  out  upon  the  lagoon 
again,  and  now  they  were  skirting  the 
pretty  green  Giudecca  shore,  where  scar 
let  poppies  stood  bright  and  motionless 
in  the  still  sunshine. 

"Oh,  I  want  some  of  those  poppies," 
cried  May.  "  Nanni,  could  we  go  ashore 
and  get  some  of  those  flowers  ?  How  do 
you  call  them  ?  ' ' 

"They  are  papavcri,  Signorina,"  he 
answered  ;  "I  will  get  you  some." 

"  But  I  want  to  get  them  myself." 

"  That  would  not  be  possible,  Signor 
ina  ;  it  is  difficult  to  land." 

He  rowed  slowly  for  a  few  seconds 
more,  and  then  he  backed  water  and 
brought  the  gondola  in  toward  the  shore 
which  rose  several  feet  above  the  wa 
ter  and  wras  formed  of  loose  earth  and 
stones.  May,  forced  to  admit  that  she 


92  a  Denettan  3-une 


could  not  herself  land,  seated  herself  on 
the  gondola  steps  whence  she  could  watch 
the  proceedings.  The  gondola  was  creep 
ing  closer  and  closer  to  the  shore,  sidling 
in,  for  it  was  only  here  and  there  that  the 
water  was  deep  enough  to  carry  the  boat. 
Presently  Nanni  laid  the  blade  of  the  oar 
flat  upon  the  grass  and  so  drew  the  boat 
gently  in.  Then,  still  keeping  his  hold 
upon  the  shore  with  the  blade  of  the  oar, 
he  laid  the  other  end  across  the  stern, 
and,  assuring  himself  that  the  balance 
was  perfect,  he  found  a  foothold  in  the 
loose  earth,  and,  with  one  long  step, 
gained  the  top  of  the  embankment. 
The  gondola  gave  somewhat  beneath  his 
foot,  and  the  stern  rose  as  it  righted  it 
self,  but  the  oar-blade  did  not  yield  its 
curiously  tenacious  hold. 

"  How  nice  of  him,  not  to  tell  us  to 
sit  still,"  May  exclaimed.  "One  does 
like  to  be  treated  like  an  intelligent 
being!" 

She  watched  the  tall  figure  moving  here 
and  there,  stooping  to  pick  half-a-dozen 


(3atbetin0  poppies  93 


blossoms,  giving  an  occasional  glance  at 
the  gondola  meanwhile,  to  make  sure  that 
all  was  well.  Presently  the  figure  dis 
appeared  in  the  hollow. 

"One  feels  quite  abandoned,"  Pauline 
remarked.  "What  would  become  of  us 
if  the  boat  were  to  glide  off?  " 

"We  could  wade  ashore,"  May  sug 
gested.  "It  does  n't  appear  to  be  more 
than  a  foot  deep  anywhere." 

' '  I  rather  think  Nanni  would  have  to 
do  the  wading,"  said  Uncle  Dan. 

The  tide  was  going  out,  slipping  so 
quietly  to  the  sea  that  here,  at  this  re 
mote  anchorage,  the  receding  of  the  wa 
ter  was  imperceptible.  The  marsh  had 
not  yet  begun  to  prick  through  the  sink 
ing  tide,  and  as  the  eye  wandered  across 
the  wide,  unbroken  stretches  of  the  la 
goon,  it  seemed  like  a  vast  sea  of  glass. 
The  day  was  so  clear  and  so  still  that  the 
distant  spires  of  Malamocco  and  Poveglia 
were  mirrored  in  the  lagoon.  To  the 
young  eyes  of  the  girls,  the  twin  pictures, 
against  their  respective  backgrounds  of 


94  B  Venetian  5une 


sky  and   water,  were  as  clear-cut  as  an 
etching  held  in  the  hand. 

' '  Are  those  real  islands,  Uncle  Dan  ? ' ' 
asked  Pauline. 

But  before  Uncle  Dan  could  make  a  fit 
ting  rejoinder,  May  exclaimed:  "Oh, 
look  at  the  poppies  !  ' '  and  all  eyes  were 
turned  to  the  shore. 

Nanni  had  suddenly  appeared,  close 
above  them,  a  perfect  glory  of  scarlet 
poppies  in  his  hand.  The  sun  shone  full 
upon  them,  till  they  fairly  blazed  with 
color  against  the  background  of  his  dark 
figure.  He  dropped  on  one  knee,  reach 
ing  down  to  place  the  flowers  in  the  Sig- 
norina's  outstretched  hand,  and  as  she 
looked  up  brightly  to  thank  him,  the 
two  figures,  with  their  sharply  contrasted 
coloring,  made  a  startlingly  pretty  pic 
ture  in  the  exquisite  setting  of  water  and 
sky. 

"  Lungo!" 

The  voice  rang  out  musically,  as 
most  sounds  do,  across  the  water,  and, 
turning,  May  saw  another  gondola  com- 


(Satbering  poppies  95 


ing  up  astern.  The  curve  of  the  shore 
had  hidden  it  from  view  until  that 
moment. 

"  Do  stay  just  as  you  are  for  a  minute," 
cried  the  same  voice,  descending  to  Eng 
lish.  "We  are  out  after  effects,  and  \ve 
want  those  poppies." 

"Of  course  you  do,"  said  May,  "  but 
you  can't  have  them." 

' '  Yes,  we  can,  if  you  '11  only  hold  them 
in  your  hand  and  let  us  pilfer  with  our 
brushes.  You  won't  lose  a  single  poppy 
and  we  shall  have  them  all." 

"If  you  had  any  artistic  sense  you 
would  rather  have  those  tilting  about  on 
the  shore,"  said  May  ;  "  but  if  you  prefer 
an  indiscriminate  mass  of  color  you  are 
welcome." 

Geoffry  Daymond's  companion  mean 
while  was  paying  his  respects  to  Pauline 
and  the  Colonel,  who  were  old  acquaint 
ances. 

"  May,  you  have  never  meet  Mr.  Ken- 
wick,  I  think,"  said  Pauline. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have,"  May  declared  ;  "but 


Venetian  5une 


it  was  ages  ago  and  he  never  would  take 
any  notice  of  me." 

' '  Do  let  me  make  up  for  it  now, ' '  Ken- 
wick  begged,  rapidly  setting  his  pallette, 
by  way  of  elucidating  his  request. 

' '  How  long  ago  is  ages  ago  ?  ' '  asked 
Daymond. 

"  Four  years  ago  last  winter,"  was  the 
unhesitating  reply.  "  It  was  when  I  was 
fifteen  and  Mr.  Kenwick  used  to  come  to 
see  my  sisters." 

"  My  memory  does  not  go  back  as  far 
as  that,"  said  Kenwick.  "I  'm  a  child 
of  the  hour." 

He  was  a  man  well  on  in  the  thirties, 
who  looked  as  if  he  had  lived  hard  ;  and 
since  there  was  nothing  in  his  chosen 
calling  to  account  for  such  an  impression, 
the  observer  was  led  to  seek  its  origin  in 
the  realm  of  speculation.  He  had,  to  be 
sure,  painted  several  good  pictures,  but 
that  was  ten  years  ago.  Since  then  he 
had  lived  on  his  reputation,  materially 
reinforced  by  a  not  inconsiderable  income. 
As  Pauline  watched  his  face,  it  struck 


<3atbertng  floppies  97 


her  that  his  smile,  which  she  had  always 
objected  to,  had  grown  positively  glitter 
ing  in  its  intensity.  Uncle  Dan,  for  his 
part,  thought  the  young  man  seemed 
amusing,  but  he  wished  he  had  not  hap 
pened  to  be  old  Stephen  Ken  wick's 
grandson. 

' '  Then  we  may  have  you  ?  ' '  Geoffry 
was  asking. 

"  I  thought  it  was  the  poppies  you 
wanted,"  said  May,  'suspiciously. 

"  It  is  !  it  is  !  "  cried  Kenwick  with 
fervor. 

"  But  you  make  such  a  pretty  setting," 
Daymond  explained  ;  "  your  dress,  you 
know,  and  the  general  color-scheme." 

"What  fun  to  be  a  color-scheme," 
cried  May.  "Uncle  Dan,  do  you  think 
I  might  be  a  color-scheme  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that  you  can  help  it," 
was  Uncle  Dan's  rejoinder,  intended  to 
express  a  proper  resignation,  but  betray 
ing,  quite  unconsciously,  an  appreciation 
of  more  than  the  pale  blue  gown  as  a 
background. 


Venetian 


Then  Nanni,  having  returned  to  his 
post,  was  directed  to  row  out  a  little  from 
shore,  and  presently  the  two  artists  were 
at  work,  rapidly  sketching  in  the  bright 
figure  with  the  slim  black  prow  for  a  foil, 
and  the  silvery  reaches  of  the  lagoon 
beyond. 

Uncle  Dan  was  sitting  in  the  chair 
where  he  could  watch  the  faces  of  the 
young  men.  There  was  something  in 
Kenwick's  manner  that  antagonized 
him  ;  it  was,  somehow,  too  appreciative. 

"I  make  a  condition,"  the  Colonel 
exclaimed  abruptly,  in  his  voice  of  mar 
tinet.  "  If  there  's  a  likeness  the  sketch 
is  forfeited." 

"I'm  safe,"  Geoffry  laughed.  "I 
never  got  a  likeness  in  my  life." 

"  I  will  be  as  evasive  as  possible,"  said 
Ken  wick,  somewhat  nettled;  "but  it's 
rather  late  to  impose  conditions." 

11  Am  I  holding  the  poppies  right?" 
asked  May,  after  what  seemed  to  her  a 
long  interval  of  silence.  "  I  'm  afraid 
they  will  begin  to  droop  pretty  soon." 


(Satbering  poppies  99 


"The  poppies  are  all  right,"  Geoffry 
assured  her. 

"  Does  that  mean  the  rest  of  it  is  n't? 
I  posed  for  the  girls  in  a  studio  once,  and 
they  said  I  did  it  very  well." 

"Girls  usually  pose  well,"  Kenwick 
observed  ;  upon  which  May  concluded, 
most  illogically,  that  he  was  conceited. 

Pauline,  meanwhile,  had  not  turned 
toward  the  other  gondola  which  lay 
astern  of  theirs.  She  was  watching  her 
sister  and  wishing  she  could  .sketch.  She 
thought,  if  she  could,  she  should  rather 
do  her  as  she  received  the  poppies  from 
the  hands  of  the  gondolier.  She  had 
one  of  her  prettiest  looks  then,  and  the 
little  touch  of  action  was  more  character 
istic.  There  was  something  conventional, 
and  therefore  not  quite  natural  in  this 
passive  pose  ;  May  was  not  in  the  habit 
of  sitting  still  to  be  looked  at. 

"Would  you  like  to  see.  Miss  Bev 
erly?" 

The  other  gondola  had  glided  up  close 
alongside,  and  Daymond  held  out  his 


ioo  B  Denetian 


sketch.  Faithful  to  his  bond,  and  to  his 
professed  disabilities,  he  had  scarcely 
hinted  at  the  face,  but  the  pose  was 
charmingly  successful,  and  the  scheme 
of  color  was  all  he  had  promised.  Bright 
as  the  poppies  were,  and  well  as  they 
were  indicated,  without  being  individual 
ized,  in  the  sketchy  handling,  the  really 
high  light  of  the  picture  was  caught  in 
the  golden  hair,  which  gleamed  against 
the  silvery  blending  of  water  and  sky, 
and  was  thrown  into  still  brighter  relief 
by  the  graceful  black  prow  curving  be 
yond  it,  but  a  little  off  the  line. 

"It  is  lovely,"  said  Pauline,  as  she 
handed  it  to  May. 

"  How  pretty  !  "  cried  May  ;  and  then, 
recovering  her  presence  of  mind  :  "I 
don't  see  how  you  got  such  a  good 
red." 

Uncle  Dan,  meanwhile,  was  examining 
Kenwick's  sketch. 

"  How  the  devil  did  you  get  that  like 
ness?"  he  exclaimed,  forgetting,  for  an 
instant,  the  condition  he  had  made. 


101 


"Then  the  thing  is  forfeited,"  Ken- 
wick  remarked. 

"That  'sa  fact,"  the  Colonel  answered, 
turning  upon  the  artist  a  glance  of  quick 
distrust.  "  What  's  to  be  done  about 
it?" 

'  '  That  is  for  you  to  say,  '  '  Ken  wick 
replied.  "  The  sketch  is  yours." 

The  Colonel's  face  flushed.  He  had  a 
very  lively  appreciation  of  a  graceful  act, 
and  he  was  really  delighted  with  the 
picture. 

"Why,  bless  my  soul  !  "  he  cried  ; 
"that's  a  present  worth  having!  Kh, 
Polly?" 

"  Indeed  it  is  !  "  Pauline  agreed,  cor 
dially,  taking  the  picture  from  her  uncle's 
hand  and  studying  it  attentively. 

"  All  the  same,"  she  said,  as  they 
were  rowing  towards  home,  half-an-hour 
later;  "I  should  much  rather  have  had 
Mr.  Daymond's  sketch.  It  is  not  a  like 
ness  yet  there  's  twice  as  much  of  May 
in  it." 

'  '  Do  you  think  so  ?  "     May  queried, 


102  a  tfeuetiau 


doubtfully.     "Seems   to   me   he   didn't 
give  me  any  nose." 

"Oh,  yes,  he  did;  there  was  a  little 
dot  that  did  very  well  for  a  nose  And, 
besides,  there  is  n't  very  much  of  you  in 
your  nose." 

"  I  wish  you  had  told  me  that  my  hat 
was  tipped  up  on  one  side,"  May  contin 
ued,  reproachfully.  She  was  examining 
Ken  wick's  sketch  with  much  interest. 

"  It  would  have  spoiled  it  if  it  had  n't 
been  ;  your  hair  would  n't  have  showed 
half  as  well." 

' '  Perhaps  not  ;  and  the  hair  does  look 
pretty,"  May  admitted.  "Do  you  re 
member  how  pretty  Mamma's  hair  was, 
Uncle  Dan?" 

"Of  course  I  do.  It  was  prettier  than 
yours,"  the  Colonel  declared,  cheerfully 
perjuring  his  soul  in  the  cause  of  dis 
cipline. 

"  So  I  thought, ' '  said  May.  ' '  There  's 
always  something  better  than  ours.  I 
wonder  how  it  would  seem  to  have  any 
thing  really  superlative," 


®atberin<5  poppies  103 


As  the  gondola  came  up  to  the  steps  of 
the  Venezia,  May  turned,  and  looking 
back  at  the  gondolier,  said  :  "  The  pa- 
paveri  are  beautiful,  Nanni." 

She  was  delighted  with  her  acquisition 
of  a  new  word,  and  still  more  so  with  the 
flash  of  pleasure  her  thanks  called  forth. 

"No,  he  is  not  morose,"  she  assured 
herself,  as  she  stood  on  the  balcony,  a 
few  minutes  later,  and  watched  the  gon 
dola  gliding  away  in  the  golden  afternoon 
light.  The  man  was  rowing  slowly, 
against  the  tide,  but  presently  the  long, 
slim  boat,  with  the  long,  slim  figure  at 
the  stern,  rounded  the  bend  of  the  canal 
and  vanished. 


I 


ID1TiriL  Gbe  pulse  of  tbeSea* 

[Y  the  end  of  another  week 
the  life  in  Venice  had 
come  to  seem  the  only  life  in  the  world, 
and  even  May  admitted  that  there  was 
something  mythical  about  wheels  and 
tram-ways  and  such  prosaic  devices  for 
getting  about  on  dry  land.  Both  she 
and  Pauline  had  acquired  some  little 
skill  with  the  forward  oar,  for,  as  Uncle 
Dan  justly  observed,  now  that  they 
sometimes  succeeded  in  keeping  the  oar 
in  the  row-lock  for  twenty  consecutive 
strokes,  they  were  really  very  little  hin 
drance  to  the  progress  of  the  boat !  May 
declared  that  no  person  of  a  practical 
turn  would  ever  take  naturally  to  so 
unpractical  an  arrangement  as  that  short- 
104 


pulse  of  tbe  Sea  105 


lipped  makeshift,  designed  to  eject  an 
oar  at  the  first  stroke.  Geoffry  Daymond 
agreed  with  her  in  this,  as  in  most  of  her 
opinions.  He  declared  in  confidence  to 
his  mother  that  her  views  must  either  be 
accepted  or  flatly  contradicted,  for  they 
possessed  no  atmosphere,  and  they  conse 
quently  afforded  no  debatable  ground. 

Kenwick,  on  the  other  hand,  very 
rarely  saw  fit  to  agree  with  the  positive 
young  person  who  looked  so  pretty  when 
she  was  crossed,  or  with  any  one  else,  for 
the  matter  of  that.  He  told  May  that  she 
would  row  better  if  she  were  not  so  wool 
gathering,  merely  for  the  pleasure  of 
hearing  her  scornful  disclaimer ;  and  when 
Pauline  pointed  out  that  she  was  herself 
the  wool-gatherer,  although  her  oar  was 
quite  as  tractable  as  her  sister's,  he  as 
sured  her  that  she  was  as  much  a  child  of 
the  fleeting  hour  as  himself. 

It  was  Ken  wick's  method  to  talk  to 
people  about  themselves,  with  a  judicious 
linking  together  of  his  own  peculiarities 
and  theirs.  He  imagined  that  that  sort 


io6  B  IDenetian 


of  thing  lent  a  piquancy  to  conversation. 
The  aim  of  Oliver  Kenwick's  life  was  to 
be  effective  ;  his  art  had  suffered  from  it, 
and  even  in  social  matters  he  sometimes 
had  the  misfortune  to  overshoot  the 
mark. 

"Uncle  Dan,"  Pauline  had  asked,  one 
day,  after  an  hour  spent  in  Kenwick's 
society,  "what  is  the  reason  Mr.  Ken- 
wick  makes  so  little  impression  ?  " 

"Because  hedoes  n't  tally,"  May  put  in. 

"Well,"  said  Uncle  Dan,  scowling 
perplexedly  ;  "  I  don't  quite  make  him 
out.  But  we've  always  had  a  feeling  in 
our  family  that  some  of  the  Kenwicks 
were  not  quite  our  own  kind  ;  "  an  ex 
pression  of  opinion  on  Uncle  Dan's  part 
which  owed  its  careful  moderation  to  the 
fact  that  he  had  accepted  and  still  trea 
sured  the  poppy  sketch.  For  there  was 
one  thing  that  the  Colonel  deferred  to 
even  more  than  to  his  prejudices,  and 
that  was  his  sense  of  obligation. 

He  therefore  submitted,  with  a  very 
good  grace,  to  seeing  a  good  deal  of  the 


Gbe  pulse  of  tbe  Sea  107 


young  man,  and  if  it  occasionally  irked 
him  to  have  Stephen  Kenwick's  grand 
son  about,  he  found  his  account  in  the 
spirit  and  ease  with  which  his  two  Pollys 
dealt  with  the  situation. 

Kenwick,  of  course,  attached  himself 
ostensibly  to  the  Daymond  party.  He 
seemed  to  bear  Geof  no  grudge  because 
of  his  defection  in  the  matter  of  the  tramp 
among  the  Dolomites,  which  he  himself, 
indeed,  had  appeared  ready  enough  to 
relinquish.  Without  any  preconcerted 
plan  it  usually  happened  that  the  two 
gondolas  fell  in  with  one  another  in  the 
course  of  the  afternoon,  an  arrangement 
which  was  much  facilitated  by  the  bril- 
liant-hued  banners  floating  at  the  respec 
tive  prows. 

"There's  the  flag-ship  over  by  San 
Servolo,"  Geof  would  exclaim,  seizing  an 
oar  and  giving  immediate  chase  ;  or  they 
would  cruise  about  in  an  aimless  way 
until  Kenwick  dropped  the  remark  that 
the  Colonel  had  said  something  about  a 
trip  to  Murano  that  day.  . 


io8  B  Venetian  3une 


The  casual  nature  of  Ken  wick's  allu 
sions  to  the  Colonel's  party  afforded  Geof 
no  little  amusement.  His  pleasure  in 
Oliver's  society  had  always  partaken 
somewhat  of  the  admiring  sentiment  a 
plain  man  entertains  for  a  clever  come 
dian.  Being-  himself  incapable  of  dissim 
ulation,  even  in  a  good  cause,  he  was 
the  more  disposed  to  condone  any  harm 
less  exercise  of  a  gift  which  he  could 
never  hope  to  acquire. 

"I  'm  afraid  they  won't  catch  up  with 
us  any  more,  now  that  we  have  two 
oars,"  said  May,  one  afternoon,  as  the  red 
banner  sped  swiftly  past  the  Riva,  bound 
for  the  Porto  del  lyido.  The  day  was 
bright  and  warm,  and  the  pretty  linen 
awning  with  its  crimson  lining  was  spread 
above  their  heads,  somewhat  obstructing 
their  view.  "  I  wish  I  could  see  whether 
they  were  coming,"  she  added,  with  out 
spoken  solicitude.  "  It 's  so  much  more 
fun  to  be  a  flotilla  !  " 

"  I  think  they  will  find  us,"  said  Paul 
ine,  smiling  to  herself,  as  if  she  had 


Gbe  ipulsc  of  tbe  Sea  109 


pleasant  thoughts.  She  would  trust 
Geoffry  Daymond  to  overtake  them. 
Pauline  was  no  match-maker,  but,  as  she 
told  herself,  it  was  the  sort  of  thing  that 
was  always  happening  in  the  family,  and 
Geof  's  liking  for  May  was  as  obvious  as 
it  was  natural. 

"Do  you  think,  Vittorio,  that  we  can 
really  go  out  on  the  Adriatic?"  May 
asked. 

Vittorio  had  been  at  the  forward  oar 
for  a  day  or  two,  and  to-morrow  his 
brother  was  to  be  dismissed  and  he  was 
to  return  to  his  post. 

"  Hardly  out  upon  the  Adriatic,"  he 
said,  and,  turning,  he  laid  his  oar  flat 
across  between  the  two  gunwales  and 
balanced  himself  upon  it  in  order  to  look 
under  the  flaps  of  the  awning  into  the 
face  of  the  Signorina.  Vittorio  was  of  a 
pre-eminently  social  disposition,  and  he 
liked  to  be  in  visible  touch  with  his  listen 
ers.  It  was  indeed  refreshing  to  see  his 
handsome  face  and  brilliant  smile  once 
more.  It  quite  flashed  in  upon  them, 


no  B  Venetian  5une 

being  in  full  sunshine,  as  they  looked  out 
upon  it  from  their  shady  covert. 

"  The  new  break- water  runs  out  a  very 
long  distance  into  the  open  sea  on  either 
side,"  he  explained;  "and  we  shall 
hardly  get  to  the  end  of  it.  But  we  can 
see  over  it,  and  there  will  be  the  bright 
sails  such  as  the  Signorina  likes." 

"  How  nice  he  is  !  "  said  May  ;  "now 
the  other  one  would  have  said  :  '  No,  Sig 
norina,'  and  that  would  have  been  the 
end  of  it." 

Yet,  even  as  she  spoke,  a  quick  com 
punction  seized  her.  She  had  never 
been  able  to  rid  her  mind  of  a  disquiet 
ing  conviction  that  all  was  not  well  with 
this  grave,  taciturn  being,  whose  per 
sonality  was  not  less  haunting  than  his 
bearing  was  unobtrusive.  She  did  not 
remember  that  she  had  ever  before  felt 
so  much  concern  for  an  indifferent  per 
son,  and,  being  of  an  active  temperament, 
she  could  not  be  content  with  a  passive 
solicitude.  It  seemed  to  her  that  some 
thing  must  be  done  about  it,  and  that 


jpulse  of  tbe  Sea  m 


it  devolved  upon  her  to  solve  the  prob 
lem.  Perhaps  if  she  were  to  offer  to 
give  the  man  a  gondola  he  would  admit 
that  he  was  miserable  in  that  drear}' 
hospital,  and  that  he  longed  for  the 
free  life  of  the  lagoons.  The  project 
appealed,  indeed,  so  strongly,  both  to 
her  imagination  and  to  her  judgment, 
that  she  had  already  made  a  mental 
readjustment  of  her  finances  to  that  end. 
There  was  a  certain  white  silk  trimmed 
with  pale  green  miroir  velvet  that  she 
had  once  dreamed  of,  which  had  some 
how  transformed  itself  in  her  mind  into 
a  slim  black  bark,  fitted  out  in  the  most 
approved  style  with  cushions  and  sea 
horses,  and  tufted  cords. 

"  I  ought  to  be  willing  to  dance  in  my 
tennis  dress  the  rest  of  my  days,"  she 
told  herself;  "for  the  sake  of  changing 
the  whole  course  of  a  poor  man's  life  !  " 

"Lungol" 

The  familiar  call  took  her  quite  by  sur 
prise,  and  looking  out  from  under  the 
awning,  she  espied  the  Daymond  sea- 


B  Venetian  $une 


horse  on  its  blue  ground,  already  close 
upon  them.  Geof  was  at  the  oar  and 
Kenwick  was  sitting  beside  Mrs.  Day- 
mond. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  our  making  an 
exchange  of  prisoners,  Colonel  S teele  ?  ' ' 
asked  Mrs.  Daymond.  "  You  shall  have 
one  of  my  young  men  if  you  will  give 
me  one  of  your  girls." 

"Oh,  may  I  come  to  you?"  Pauline 
begged,  mindful  of  her  little  air-castle  ; — 
for  the  Colonel  always  managed,  when 
he  could,  to  get  Geoffry  into  his  own 
boat,  and  the  young  man  was  already 
engaged  in  an  animated  conversation 
with  her  sister. 

"Do  come,"  said  Mrs.  Daymond. 
' '  And  Mr.  Kenwick,  I  shall  have  to 
give  you  up,  for  I  can't  spare  an  oar." 

"Doesn't  Mr.  Kenwick  row?"  asked 
May,  lifting  a  pair  of  satirical  eyebrows. 

11  Not  for  other  people,"  Kenwick 
laughed.  "  I  keep  my  strength  for  pad 
dling  my  own  canoe  ' '  ;  and,  having  seen 
Pauline  safely  established  beside  Mrs. 


fcwlse  of  tbe  Sea  113 


Daymond,  he  stepped  into  the  Colonel's 
boat,  quite  unconscious  of  the  scarcity 
of  encouragement  he  had  received. 

The  Colonel  welcomed  him  the  more 
hospitably  perhaps,  for  a  consciousness 
of  having  been  somewhat  remiss  at  the 
outset.  He  need  have  had  no  misgiv 
ings,  however,  for  Kenwick  was  so  hap 
pily  constituted  as  to  consider  a  slight 
to  himself  quite  inconceivable. 

"  It  was  very  sweet  of  you  to  come  to 
us,"  said  Mrs.  Daymond,  as  the  gondolas 
glided  away  from  each  other.  ' '  We 
particularly  wanted  you  this  afternoon." 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Pauline, 
with  one  of  her  still  smiles  that  seemed 
to  give  out  as  much  warmth  as  bright 
ness. 

They  had  passed  the  island  of  Santa 
Elena,  and  were  upon  the  broad  path 
of  the  sea-going  vessels,  which  was 
deserted  to-day,  save  for  one  yellow  sail, 
yet  a  long  way  off,  that  stood  out  in 
full  sunshine  against  the  quiet  northern 
sky.  The  tide  was  coming  in,  though 


H4  B  Venetian  $une 


not  yet  strongly,  and  they  were  avoiding 
the  current  by  keeping  in  toward  the 
shore  of  the  Lido. 

Geof  was  rowing,  with  power  and  pre- 
precision,  as  his  habit  was.  It  struck 
Pauline  that  he  would  have  been  a  capi 
tal  gondolier  ;  and  then  she  remembered 
that  when  he  got  her  Uncle  Dan  talking 
about  the  war  the  other  day, — a  feat,  by 
the  way,  which  few  succeeded  in  accom 
plishing, — she  had  thought  to  herself, 
what  a  superb  soldier  he  would  have 
made.  Presently  her  eye  wandered  from 
the  rhythmically  swaying  figure  at  the  oar 
to  the  wide  reaches  of  the  seaward  path, 
where  the  yellow  sail  showed,  clear  and 
remote  as  a  golden  bugle-note,  its  reflec 
tion  dropping  like  an  echo,  far,  far  down 
into  the  depths.  The  other  gondola  had 
fallen  back  a  few  lengths,  as  was  apt  to 
be  the  case. 

' '  Did  you  ever  wonder  why  your  men 
give  us  the  right  of  way  ?  ' '  Mrs.  Day- 
mond  asked.  Her  voice  fell  in  so  natur 
ally  with  the  dip  of  the  oars  and  the 


Gbe  fiMilse  of  tbe  Sea  115 


lapping  of  the  tide  against  the  prow, 
that  Pauline  suddenly  became  aware  of 
those  pleasant  sounds,  which  had  escaped 
her  notice  till  then. 

' '  I  should  suppose  of  course  your  gon 
dola  ought  to  go  first,"  she  answered. 

"Oh,  no,"  Mrs.  Daymond  laughed; 
"it  is  not  out  of  deference  to  me.  It 
is  only  because  Pietro  is  an  old  man,  and 
they  don't  like  to  hurry  him.  Is  n't  that 
a  pretty  trait?  " 

"Yes,  indeed  !    Is  Pietro  very  old?  " 

"He  is  sixty-four.  He  rows  as  well 
as  ever,  only  he  hasn't  quite  the  endur 
ance  he  used  to  have.  He  was  my  hus 
band's  gondolier." 

"And  you  have  had  him  all  these 
years  ? ' ' 

"Yes;  since  before  Geof  was  born. 
Geof  is  twenty-nine,"  she  added  thought 
fully  ;  "just  the  age  of  his  father  when 
we  first  met.  He  is  like  his  father,  only 
happier. ' ' 

"Happier?"  Pauline  repeated,  won- 
deringly. 


n6  B  Venetian  $une 


"  Yes  ;  my  husband  had  peculiar  sor 
rows." 

They  were  close  upon  the  bright  sail 
now,  and  they  found  that  it  was  striped 
with  red  and  tipped  with  purple.  The 
slight  breeze  had  dropped  and  the  sail 
hung  loose,  glowing  in  the  sunshine  as 
the  boat  floated  homeward  with  the  tide. 
Two  men  lay  asleep  in  the  shadow  of 
the  sail,  and  the  man  at  the  rudder  had 
let  his  pipe  go  out.  As  the  gondola 
came  alongside  the  boat,  a  small  yellow 
dog  sprang  up  and  barked  sharply  at 
them,  his  body,  from  tip  to  tail,  violently 
agitated  with  the  whirr  of  the  internal 
machinery.  The  helmsman,  thus  roused, 
pulled  out  a  match  and  lighted  his  pipe  ; 
the  sunshine  was  so  bright  that  the 
light  of  the  match  was  obliterated.  Mrs. 
Daymond  and  Pauline  watched  the  little 
drama  rather  absently. 

"There  are  more  sails,"  Geof  re 
marked,  nodding  his  head  toward  the 
mouth  of  the  port,  where  brilliant  bits  of 
color  hovered  like  butterflies  in  the  sun. 


pulse  of  tbe  Sea  1  1  7 


Pauline  did  not  say  how  pretty  they  were, 
but  Geof,  stooping  to  look  under  the 
awning  into  her  face,  did  not  feel  that 
she  was  unresponsive.  He  had  discov 
ered  before  this  that  she  had  other  means 
of  expression  than  audible  speech. 

They  had  come  about  the  end  of  the 
I^ido,  and  were  following  the  line  of  the 
break-water,  and  presently  Mrs.  Day- 
niond  broke  the  silence  : 

"  My  husband  was  a  Southern  Union 
ist,"  she  said.  "  The  war  was  an  inevi 
table  tragedy  to  him." 

Pauline  felt  instinctively  that  it  was 
not  often  that  Mrs.  Daymond  spoke  in 
this  way  of  her  husband  to  one  who  had 
not  known  him.  She  listened  with  a 
sense  of  being  singled  out  for  a  great 
honor. 

'  '  He  would  have  given  his  life  for  his 
country,"  Mrs.  Daymond  was  saying: 
"He  would  have  given  his  life  for  the 
Union,  —  but  he  was  bound  hand  and 
foot,  and  he  came  away." 

They  were  far,  far  out  now,  still  row- 


us  R  Venetian  3une 


ing  toward  the  open  sea.  As  Mrs.  Day- 
mond  paused,  they  could  hear  the  voice 
of  the  Colonel,  speaking  to  Vittorio,  in 
his  peculiar  Italian,  only  a  shade  less 
English  than  his  own  tongue. 

"  And  your  husband  came  to  Venice  ?  " 

' '  Yes  ;  it  was  here  that  we  met.  He 
had  been  gathering  material  in  many 
places  for  a  history  of  Venice,  and  he 
had  come  here  to  write.  We  spent  three 
years  here,  summer  and  winter.  He  was 
fond  of  rough  weather,  and  we  get  plenty 
of  that  here.  And  he  was  fond  of  work." 

She  paused  again,  watching  the  meas 
ured  stroke  of  her  son's  oar. 

"  One  summer  we  went  into  the  Tyrol 
for  a  few  weeks,  and  while  we  were  away 
there  was  a  fire,  and  all  my  husband's 
notes  and  manuscripts  were  burnt. ' ' 

"Burnt?"  Pauline  repeated,  with  a 
catch  of  consternation  in  her  voice. 

There  was  not  a  trace  of  bitterness  in 
the  speaker's  face  ;  on  the  contrary,  its 
usual  clear  serenity  seemed  touched  to 
something  higher  and  deeper. 


Gbe  pulse  of  tbe  Sea  "9 


"Then  it  was,"  she  said,  "that  my 
husband  had  his  great  opportunity.  He 
began  his  work  again  from  the  begin 
ning.  His  courage  did  not  flag  for  a 
single  instant." 

"He  was  a  brave  soldier  after  all," 
said  Pauline. 

"  Yes  ;  and  he  fell  on  the  field.  There 
was  a  terrible  epidemic  of  fever,  and  he 
went  about  among  the  people  doing  them 
inestimable  service  in  many  ways.  I 
could  not  go  with  him  because  of  Geof, 
and,— I  saw  the  end  from  the  beginning. 
As  I  was  saying,  Pietro  used  to  row  us 
as  long  ago  as  that.  He  has  carried 
Geof  in  his  arms  many  a  time.  Ah  ! 
Now  we  feel  the  swell  !  ' ' 

As  she  spoke,  the  long,  slow  roll  of  the 
sea  lifted  their  light  bark  like  a  piece  of 
drift-wood  upon  its  sweeping  crest,  let 
ting  it  sink  again  in  a  strange  and  sol 
emn  rhythm.  The  actual  rise  and  fall 
of  the  water  was  so  slight  that  it  was 
scarcely  apparent  to  the  eye  ;  yet  it  had 
the  reach  and  significance  of  an  elemental 


120  B  Venetian  June 


force,  and  the  gondola  rose  and  sank 
with  a  certain  tremor,  foreign  to  its 
usual  graceful  motion. 

"Perhaps  we  had  better  turn  back, 
Geof,"  said  Mrs.  Daymond. 

' '  Very  well ;  but  not  until  Miss  Beverly 
has  seen  the  sails  outside." 

Pauline  went  forward  and  stood  upon 
the  upper  step,  steadying  herself  by  the 
oarsman's  proffered  shoulder.  The  mo 
tion  seemed  stronger,  now  that  she  was 
on  her  feet. 

"Hold  harder,"  said  Geof;  "you 
won't  enjoy  it  if  you  don't  feel  safe. — 
There  !  That  's  right." 

Over  the  line  of  the  jetty  was  the  deep 
blue  Adriatic,  sweeping  to  the  horizon, 
its  nearer  reaches  dotted  with  brilliant 
sails,  shining  in  every  shade  of  red  and 
yellow  and  ruddy  brown.  The  long, 
outer  shore  of  the  Lido,  stretching  far 
away  to  the  tower  of  Malamocco,  was 
edged  with  white,  as  the  gentle  curve  of 
the  waves  broke  with  a  toss  of  spray 
upon  the  sand. 


pulse  ot  tbe  Sea  121 


"You  like  it?"  Geof  inquired,  look 
ing  up  into  her  face. 

"  It  's  as  pretty  as  a  tune,"  she  said. 
"  A  tune  with  a  lot  of  harmony  to  make 
it  really  sing.  Do  you  know  what  I 
mean  ?  ' ' 

"  Perfectly,"  he  answered. 

Then,  as  she  stepped  down  and  went 
back  to  her  seat :  "I'm  going  home  as 
passenger,"  he  announced.  "We  shall 
have  the  tide  with  us  and  Pietro  won't 
need  my  help." 

:<  That 's  right,"  said  Mrs.  DajTmond. 
"  We  want  you  over  here." 

The  sun  had  got  low  enough  to  shine 
in  under  the  flaps  of  the  awning,  and 
Geof  lifted  the  canvas  from  its  iron  rods, 
and  handed  it  over  to  Pietro,  who  stowed 
it  away,  rods  and  all,  in  the  stern  of  the 
gondola.  The  world  seemed  to  open  up 
immensely  bright  and  big,  and  the  sky 
struck  them  with  the  force  of  a  revela 
tion. 

"There,  I  call  this  grand!"  Geof 
cried,  taking  possession  of  the  chair. 


Venetian  $une 


"  I  've  been  feeling  like  an  outcast  or  a 
galley-slave,  or  some  such  unlucky 
wretch,  laboring  away  at  the  oar,  with 
you  two  having  the  pick  of  everything 
inside." 

"  You  seemed  depressed  !  "  his  mother 
said,  with  amused  appreciation  of  his 
lament. 

They  had  turned  toward  home,  and 
were  just  coming  up  with  the  Colonel's 
gondola.  The  men  were  resting  on  their 
oars,  while  the  passengers  stood  up  to 
survey  the  view  beyond  the  jetty. 

"  You  did  n't  come  out  far  enough  to 
get  the  swell,"  said  Pauline. 

"  Yes,  we  did,"  May  answered.  "  But 
we  did  n't  like  it ;  so  we  came  back." 

"Miss  May  was  pretty  badly  fright 
ened,"  Ken  wick  observed,  with  his  most 
brilliant  smile. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  cried  May  ;  "  I  was  no 
more  frightened  than  anybody  else  !  But 
I  did  n't  like  it.  It  felt  so  horribly  big, 
and  made  us  seem  so  little." 

' '  And  you  were  perfectly  right,  Polly, ' ' 


flMilse  of  tbe  Sea  123 


said  Uncle  Dan,  placing  his  hand  upon 
the  small,  gloveless  one  that  lay  on  his 
arm.  "The  sea  is  no  place  for  a  gon 
dola.  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Daymond  agrees 
with  us." 

"  I  think  we  both  sympathize  with 
May,"  she  answered,  glancing  with  in 
terest  at  the  charming  young  face,  which 
was  not  quite  clear  of  a  certain  puzzled 
disturbance. 

Half-aii-hour  later  they  rounded  the 
end  of  the  I^ido  and  came  in  full  sight 
of  the  city,  its  domes  and  towers  group 
ing  themselves  in  ever  changing  perspec 
tive  against  the  western  sky.  They 
overtook  two  or  three  of  the  brilliant 
sails  they  had  passed  on  their  outward 
way,  still  drifting  city-ward  with  the 
tide.  The  men  had  taken  to  their  oars, 
and  were  helping  the  boats  along. 

As  they  drew  near  the  poor,  denuded 
island  of  Santa  Blena,  where  only  the 
vine-grown  Abbey  remains,  of  all  its 
ancient  loveliness,  a  cascade  of  lark-notes 
came  pouring  down  from  the  sky.  They 


124  B  Venetian  5une 


strained  their  eyes  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  birds,  lost  to  sight  in  the  dazzling 
ether,  and  as  they  looked,  one  tiny  crea 
ture,  with  wings  outspread,  came  sing 
ing  down  to  earth. 

The  gondolas  were  Hearing  home, 
when  Geof  asked  abruptly:  "How  did 
you  like  it,  Miss  Beverly, — being  caught 
in  the  ocean  swell  ?  ' ' 

"  I  agree  with  May  that  it  was  rather 
solemn  and  awful,"  she  answered;  and 
then,  with  a  slightly  deepening  color: 
"but— I  liked  it." 


SAY,  Geof;  is  n't  that  Colonel 
Steele's  gondola  over  there?  " 

"  Why,  yes  !  "  Geof,  cried,  with  mock 
surprise  ;  "  how  clever  of  you  to  see  it  ! 
And,  I  say,  Oliver,  don't  you  think  that 
looks  a  little  like  the  tower  of  San  Gior 
gio  ?  Red,  you  know  ;  rather  marked, 
eh?" 

The  two  young  men  were  coming  home 
from  an  early  sketching-bout,  as  was 
evident  from  a  glance  at  the  gondola, 
which  was  distinctly  in  undress.  Old 
Pietro  knew  better  than  to  carry  his  best 
cushions  and  brasses  on  such  occasions ; 
nor  did  he  display  the  long,  black  broad- 
125 


126  B  IDenetian  $une 


cloth, — the  strassino — which  gives  such 
distinction  to  a  gondola,  falling  in  ample 
folds  from  the  carved  back  of  the  seat, 
and  hiding  the  rougher  finish  of  the  stern. 
Under  the  awning,  on  the  very  rusty  and 
dilapidated  cushions,  sat  Kenwick,  and 
beside  him,  face  up,  was  an  oil-sketch  of 
a  half-grown  boy,  sitting  at  the  prow  of 
a  fishing-boat,  dangling  his  bare  brown 
legs  over  the  water,  which  gave  back  a 
broken  reflection  of  the  bony  members. 
A  red  sail,  standing  out  in  full  sunshine, 
furnished  the  background  to  the  figure, 
but  somehow,  the  interest  centred  in  the 
thin  legs,  which  the  boy  himself  was 
regarding  with  studious  approval.  The 
legs  were  so  extremely  well  drawrn  that 
one  did  not  wonder  at  their  owner's  .satis 
faction  in  them. 

"  Pity  }Tou  can't  paint  as  well  as  you 
can  chaff,"  the  artist  observed,  glancing 
from  his  own  clever  sketch  to  his  friend's 
block,  which  was  leaning,  face  inward, 
against  the  side  of  the  boat. 

Geof  was  lolling  on  the  steps,  his  legs 


of  Denice  127 


somewhat  entangled  among  the  easels, 
paint-boxes,  and  the  like  that  cumbered 
the  floor  of  the  boat,  one  arm  resting  on 
the  deck  of  the  prow.  Like  many  ath 
letic  men,  he  had  a  gift  for  looking  out 
rageously  lazy.  At  Kenwick's  retort,  he 
turned  from  the  contemplation  of  San 
Giorgio,  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his 
pipe,  and  folding  his  hands  behind  his 
head,  bestowed  an  amiable  grin  upon  his 
astute  friend.  He  wondered  just  why 
Ken  wick  found  it  worth  while  to  dissem 
ble. 

"  The  best  thing  you  ever  did  was  that 
poppy  sketch,"  he  remarked,  regarding 
his  companion  with  half-closed,  indolent 
eyes.  "  But  then,  you  haven't  often  the 
wit  to  choose  such  a  good  subject.  I 
wish  you  were  not  so  confoundedly  afraid 
of  doing  anything  pretty." 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  Ken  wick  retorted  ; 
"  you  may  be  a  very  decent  architect, 
but  I  '11  be  hanged  if  you  have  the  first 
inkling  of  what  art  means." 

From  which  interchange  of  amenities, 


128  B  Venetian  3-une 


the  average  listener  might  not  have  in 
ferred,  what  was  nevertheless  true,  that 
the  two  men  had  a  high  opinion  of  one 
another's  talents.  Happily,  there  was  no 
one  to  be  misled,  for  Pietro,  with  all  his 
advantages,  had  not  yet  mastered  a  word 
of  English.  The  only  feature  of  the 
situation  intelligible  to  him,  was,  that 
Kenwick,  too,  discarded  his  pipe  at  this 
juncture,  and  the  gondolier  was,  accord 
ingly,  obliged  to  stow  away  his  own 
half-finished  cigarette, — 4th.  quality, — in 
the  cavernous  recesses  of  the  stern.  He 
had  been  counting  upon  smoking  it  out 
before  arriving  at  the  Palazzo  Darino, 
though  he  had  scented  danger  from  the 
moment  his  eye  fell  upon  Vittorio's  gon 
dola.  A  gondolier,  however,  is  early 
schooled  to  study  any  whim  rather  than 
his  own,  and  presently  Pietro  observed, 
rather  than  inquired  :  "  To  San  Giorgio, 
Signore  ?  ' ' 

"  Sicuro  /" 

The  red  banner  was  hanging  limp  in 
the  lee  of  the  island,  the  prow  of  the  boat 


of  Venice  129 


being  tied  to  a  ring  in  the  masonry,  while 
Vittorio  sat  at  the  forward  end,  holding 
her  off,  lest  a  passing  steamboat  or  out 
ward  bound  coaster  should  drive  her 
against  the  wall.  Under  the  awning  was 
a  glimpse  of  light  draperies,  and,  as 
Pietro's  gondola  drew  near,  the  young 
men  could  hear  a  fresh,  girlish  voice 
reading  aloud. 

"We're  not  in  visiting  trim,"  Geof 
called,  gathering  himself  together,  as  they 
came  up  ;  "  but  we  must  know  what  you 
are  improving  your  minds  upon." 

"We  are  reading  Ruskin,"  May  re 
plied,  in  her  most  edifying  tone  of  voice. 

"  Oh,  St.  Mark's  Rest,"  said  Kenwick. 
"You're  getting  enlightened  about  the 
pillars." 

"It's  very  interesting,"  Pauline  de 
clared.  "  You  know  he  tells  us  to  have 
our  gondola  moored  over  here,  and  read 
what  he  has  to  say.  Does  n't  everybody 
doit?" 

"Well,  I  don't  think  you'll  ever  find 
San  Giorgio  fringed  with  gondolas," 


130  B  Venetian  5une 


Kenwick  mocked;  "but  I'm  sure  it 
shows  a  beautiful  spirit  in  those  who  do 
come.  I  recognize  Miss  May's  docility." 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  said  May,  with 
dignity.  "  It  was  I  who  proposed  it. 
Do  you  read  Ruskin,  Mr.  Daymond  ?  " 

"Of  course  I  do.  One  would  be  lost 
without  him,  here  in  Venice." 

"We  almost  got  lost  with  him  the 
other  day,"  she  rejoined.  "We  poked 
about  in  the  rain  in  search  of  a  San 
Giorgio  on  the  wall  of  a  house,  who  was 
described  as  '  vigorous  in  disciplined  ca 
reer  of  accustomed  conquest.'  We  found 
the  right  bridge,  with  an  unpronounce 
able  name,  and  we  turned  and  looked 
back,  just  as  we  were  bid,  and  never  a 
San  Giorgio  did  we  find.  Imagine  our 
disappointment  when  a  shop-keeper  told 
us  that  San  Giorgio  was  partito  / ' ' 

"  He  was  probably  partito  on  his  'ca 
reer  of  accustomed  conquest,'  "  Pauline 
observed .  "Is  that  what  you  two  artists 
have  been  about  ?  " 

"  We  have  been  making  a  couple  of 


of  Venice  131 


daubs  and  abusing  each  other,"  said 
Geof. 

"Yes,"  Ken  wick  declared;  "  Day- 
mond  spends  his  time  washing  in  sails 
and  clouds  and  watery  wastes,  and  won't 
take  the  trouble  to  draw  a  figure." 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Daymond,  philoso 
phically,  "  I  know  that  if  I  should  ever 
want  to  exhibit,  which  Heaven  forbid  ! 
Kenwick  could  well  afford  to  put  in  the 
figures  at  ten  francs  the  dozen.  I  don't 
suppose  you  mind  being  interrupted,"  he 
added,  tentatively. 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  May.  "  Our  scene 
was  in  need  of  figures,  too.  Even  Uncle 
Dan  failed  us.  He  hates  to  be  read  to, 
and  he  would  n't  come  and  moor." 

"  Besides,"  said  Pauline  ;  "he  wanted 
to  go  and  sit  at  Florian's  and  watch  the 
children  feeding  the  pigeons.  He  says 
he  shouldn't  grow  old  if  he  lived  in 
Venice." 

"  He  had  better,  then,"  said  Daymond. 
"Venice  is  very  becoming  to  old  things. 
Don't  you  want  to  come  and  see  some  of 


132  B  IDenetian  3-une 


those  Madonnas  we  were  telling  you 
about,  with  parasols  over  their  heads?" 

"Good,"  May  agreed,  promptly  giv 
ing  Ruskin  the  go-by.  "  And  why  don't 
you  come  in  our  gondola?  You  don't 
want  all  that  clutter  going  about  with 
you." 

"I  'in  afraid  if  we  don't  go  home  and 
brush  up,  we  shall  have  the  appearance 
of  a  clutter  in  your  boat,"  said  Geof. 

"Speak  for  yourself,"  Ken  wick  pro 
tested.  He  flattered  himself  that  he  was 
as  well  dressed  in  painting  rig  as  under 
any  other  circumstances  ;  and  quite  right 
he  was,  too.  For  Oliver  Kenwick  had  no 
mannish  contempt  for  appearances.  He 
could  not  have  done  justice  to  the  ragged 
.shirt  and  begrimed  legs  of  a  model,  if  he 
had  been  wearing  such  a  superannuated 
coat  as  Geoffrey  Daymond  elected  to  paint 
in.  Yet,  as  the  two  men  stepped  into 
Vittorio's  gondola,  it  was  he  of  the  shabby 
apparel  who  seemed  to  give  character  to 
the  group,  while  Oliver  Kenwick  would 
have  made  very  little  impression,  if  he 


of  Dentce  133 


had  chosen  to  refrain  from  conversation. 
This  he  rarely  did,  however,  and  he  lost 
no  time  in  engaging  May's  attention. 

"It's  a  pity  we  haven't  time  this 
morning  to  row  out  to  St.  George  in  the 
Seaweed,"  he  said.  "There's  a  Ma 
donna  there,  on  the  angle  of  the  wall, 
that 's  worth  seeing.  When  we  do  go, 
you  will  have  to  guess  whom  it  is  like." 

"Probably  Pauline,"  May  ventured; 
' '  One  keeps  seeing  her  in  the  Madonnas 
and  saints." 

"  No,  it 's  not  your  sister,"  said  Ken- 
wick,  with  unmistakable  meaning. 

"You  don't  mean  me!"  May  ex 
claimed;  "No  mortal  artist  could  make 
a  Madonna  of  me  !  " 

"This  may  not  have  been  done  by  a 
mortal  artist.  At  any  rate  nobody  knows 
who  did  it.  But  it  's  a  lovely  thing  ;  " 
and  Ken  wick  paused,  with  a  view  to  do 
ing  full  justice  to  the  implication. 

"Have  you  never  painted  Pietro  ? " 
Pauline  was  asking,  as  she  watched  the 
striking  figure  of  the  old  gondolier,  row- 


134  B  Venetian  3une 


ing  homeward.  He  had  rescued  his 
cigarette,  which  he  was  smoking,  with  a 
dandified  air,  as  he  made  leisurely  pro 
gress  across  the  basin.  Pietro  had  been 
a  handsome  young  blade  in  his  day,  and 
there  were  moments  when  he  recalled  the 
fact. 

"  Oh,  no  ;  I  'm  not  up  to  that  kind  of 
thing,"  Geof  answered ;  ''you  know  I 
don't  pretend  to  paint.  My  business  is 
with  bricks  and  mortar.  It 's  only  when 
I  'm  loafing  that  I  dabble  in  colors." 

"  Yet  I  liked  your  sketch  of  my  sister, 
particularly." 

' '  You  don' t  mean  it, ' '  Geof  exclaimed  ; 
"  why,  that 's  worth  knowing  !  " 

He  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  graceful 
young  creature  in  question,  once  more 
engaged  in  animated  conversation.  She 
was  pretty, — no  doubt  of  it, — preposter 
ously  pretty  !  The  coloring  of  face  and 
head  was  delicious,  and  there  was  noth 
ing  slip-shod  about  the  modelling,  either. 
All  bright  and  clear  and  significant.  She 
made  him  think  of  a  perfectly  cat  jewel. 


cf  IDenice  135 


It  was  rather  odd  that  it  should  have 
been  possible  to  hit  off  anything  so  defi 
nite,  so  almost  matter-of-fact,  in  a  mere 
sketch. 

"  I  suppose  it  was  because  I  did  n't  try 
for  too  much,"  he  said  aloud.  'The 
sketch  was  only  a  hint." 

As  he  turned  his  eyes  from  May's  face 
to  that  of  her  sister,  it  was  hardly  more 
than  a  glance  he  bestowed  upon  the  lat 
ter.  He  was  impressed  with  the  fact 
that  it  was  impossible  to  subject  the 
nevertheless  perfectly  unconscious  coun 
tenance,  whose  eyes  met  his  so  frankly, 
to  the  candid  scrutiny  he  had  given  her 
sister. 

"I'm  afraid  I  shouldn't  succeed  as 
well  with  you,"  he  remarked. 

"  I  would  n't  try,  if  I  were  you,"  Pau 
line  laughed  ;  "  I  can't  get  even  a  photo 
graph  that  my  friends  will  accept.  Have 
you  any  good  portrait  of  your  mother  ?  " 

"  No  ;  Kenwick  tried  her  two  years 
ago,  but  it  was  n' t  a  go. 

"  Of  course  not." 


136  B  Venetian  5une 


' '  Why,  of  course  not  ?  ' ' 
"  Yes  ;  why,  of  course  not  ?  "  Kenwick 
demanded.  The  sound  of  his  name  had 
naturally  attracted  his  attention,  and, 
quite  as  naturally  he  was  piqued  by  what 
he  heard. 

Pauline  hesitated  a  moment,  not  dis 
concerted,  but  reflecting. 

"  Perhaps  only  because  you  're  not  an 
old  master,"  she  said;  "Mrs.  Daymond 
ought  to  have  been  painted  three  or  four 
hundred  years  ago." 

"And  whom  should  you  have  chosen 
to  do  it  ?  "  Geoffry  asked.  It  struck  him 
that  this  was  quite  his  own  view,  only  he 
had  never  thought  it  out  before. 

"  Let  me  think,"  said  Pauline.  "  Not 
any  of  the  great  Venetians.  They  were 
too, — well,  too  gorgeous." 

"  Raphael  ?  "  May  suggested. 

"No,  not  Raphael.  Ah!  Now  I 
know  !  Sodoma  could  have  done  it." 

"That's  true,"  said  GeofTry.  "It 
ought  to  have  been  Sodoma."  Then, 
' '  I  believe  you  feel  about  my  mother 


of  IDentce  137 


something  as  I  do,"  he  added,  as  May 
and  Kenwick  entered  upon  a  lively  dis 
cussion  of  their  views  upon  the  Siennese 
painter,  in  which  they  seemed  able  to 
discover  nothing  in  common  beyond  a 
great  decision  of  opinion. 

The  gondola  was  making  its  way  down 
narrow  canals,  whose  placid  water  found 
the  loveliest  Gothic  windows  and  hang 
ing  balconies  to  reflect,  and  under  innu 
merable  bridges,  each  more  delectable 
than  the  last.  Now  and  then  they 
stopped  at  some  door-wray  opening  upon 
the  water,  where  they  landed,  and,  pass 
ing  through  a  ware-room  golden  with 
heaps  of  polenta,  or  dusky  with  bronzes 
and  wrought  iron,  they  came  out  into  a 
court-yard  embellished  by  an  exquisite 
old  stone  stair-case,  with  quaint  carved 
balustrade  and  leisurely  landings,  where 
beauteous  dames  of  bygone  centuries  may 
have  paused,  as  they  descended,  decked 
in  rich  brocades  and  costly  jewels.  Or 
again,  an  antique  well-head,  half-con 
cealed  by  tools  and  lumber,  kept  its  le- 


138  B  Venetian  3-une 


gend  in  faithful  bronze  or  marble.  The 
Madonnas,  under  their  iron  canopies? 
looked  down,  serene  and  beneficent, 
standing,  here,  above  a  little  frequented 
court ;  there,  over  the  gateway  of  an  old 
palace.  There  was  one  which  Pauline 
was  the  first  to  espy,  as  they  approached 
it  under  the  arch  of  a  bridge.  The  figure 
was  upon  the  angle  of  a  wall,  glassed 
just  where  two  canals  met  at  her  feet. 
Above  her  head  was  a  square  canopy, 
over  the  edge  of  which  delicate  green 
vines  and  tendrils  waved,  while  in  and 
out  among  them,  tiny  birds  flitted  and 
chirped. 

As  Vittorio  rested  on  his  oar,  Kenwick 
took  pains  to  assure  May  that  there  were 
no  longer  any  lights  burned  before  these 
Madonnas,  and  Vittorio  was  called  upon 
to  account  for  the  omission.  While  he 
eagerly  claimed  that  the  Madonna  at  his 
ferry  was  never  left  without  a  light  be 
tween  sundown  and  sunrise  ; — mai,  mai  f 
—Pauline  replied  to  a  remark  that  Geof- 
fry  had  made  an  hour  previous. 


of  Denice  139 


"The  feeling  one  has  about  your 
mother,"  she  said,  "almost  makes  a 
Catholic  of  one.  You  can  see  how  natu 
ral  it  is  for  these  poor  fellows  to  worship 
the  Madonna,  and  how  much  better  it 
must  make  them." 

"  It  is  humanizing,"  Geoffry  admitted. 
"There's  no  doubt  of  it;"  and  there 
upon  it  struck  him,  for  the  first  time, 
that  there  was  a  look  of  his  mother  in 
Pauline  Beverly's  face.  Perhaps  that 
accounted  for  something  that  had  per 
plexed  him  of  late. 


Diction, 


thing 
that  had 
per  pi exed 
Geoffry   Day- 
mo  n  d     was 
nothing  less 
inexplicable  than 
the  persistency  with 
which     the    face    of 
Pauline    Beverly    had 
come  to  insinuate  itself 
into  his  thoughts.     When  in  her  society, 
to  be  sure,  he  was  not  aware  of  regarding 
her  with  an  exclusive  interest.     Indeed  it 
was,  more  particularly,  May  who  amused 
and  occupied  him,  as  often  as  Kenwick 
gave  her  the  chance.    The  individuality  of 
that  surprisingly  pretty  young  person  was 
so   sharp-cut   and   incisive  that  it  fixed 
attention.     It  not  infrequently  happened 
that  everybody  present  desisted  from  con 
versation,    merely  for  the   pleasure  of  a 
passive  contemplation  of  her  mental  pro 
cesses.     These  were  simple,   and  to  the 
140 


B  JSenefcictfoti 


point,  and  usually  played  about  visible 
objects.  The  vital  matter  with  May,  in 
each  and  every  experience,  was  to  formu 
late  a  judgment  and  to  compare  it  with 
that  of  other  people.  If  others  differed 
from  her,  all  the  better.  Opposition  is  a 
sharpener  of  the  wits  ;  and  she  found 
Kenwick  invaluable  in  his  character  of 
universal  sceptic. 

No  one  but  Uncle  Dan  ever  really  took 
her  down,  and  that  he  did  so  neatly,  that 
she  was  never  seriously  disconcerted  by 
it.  Had  it  been  otherwise,  Uncle  Dan 
would  have  held  his  peace,  for  he  prized 
the  exuberance  and  unconsciousness  of 
her  egotism,  which  he  recognized  as  the 
all  too  fleeting  prerogative  of  youth,  and 
he  would  not,  for  worlds,  have  really 
checked  it. 

When  vShe  informed  him  that  the  heroic 
age  was  past,  and  that  this  was  a  mer 
cantile  era,  the  old  soldier,  remembering 
the  '6o's,  told  her  she  had  better  look  up 
era  in  the  dictionary.  When  she  an 
nounced,  with  all  the  zest  of  discovery, 


142  B  Venetian  $une 


that  Titian  could  not  draw,  it  was  Uncle 
Dan  who  observed  that  he  could  paint 
pretty  well,  which  was  the  main  thing. 

Yes ;  she  caught  the  attention,  as  the 
most  distinct  sound,  the  most  obvious 
sight  is  pretty  sure  to  do,  when  people 
are  taking  life  easily,  and  seeking  only 
amusement,  and  she  was  so  refreshingly 
unconscious  that  one  could  look  and 
listen  one's  fill,  and  no  harm  done. 

Yet  Geoffry  Daymond  discovered  that 
when  he  was  making  believe  paint  pic 
tures,  in  the  first  freshness  of  early 
morning,  or  when  he  was  smoking  his 
after-dinner  cigar,  in  the  lingering  June 
twilight,  the  face  that  interfered  with 
the  one  occupation  and  lent  charm  to  the 
other,  was  not  framed  in  golden  hair,  nor 
animated  with  the  lively  and  bird-like 
intelligence  which  he  found  so  amusing. 
And  not  only  wras  it  Pauline  Beverly's 
face,  with  its  softly  blending  colors,  and 
its  quiet,  indwelling  light,  that  floated 
before  his  mental  vision,  but  he  found 
that  he  remembered  her  words,  and  even 


^Benediction  143 


the  tones  of  her  voice,  when  the  gay,  and 
occasionally  witty  talk  of  the  others  had 
gone  the  way  of  mortal  breath.  He 
somehow  came  to  associate  certain  inflec 
tions  of  her  voice  with  the  sweet  sounds 
that  make  the  undertone  of  Venetian  life  ; 
the  plash  of  the  oar,  the  cooing  of  doves 
about  the  Salute,  the  bells  of  Murano, 
softened  in  the  distance,  the  sound  of 
the  surf  beating  outside  the  I^ido  of  a 
still  evening,  when  one  floats  far  out  on 
the  lagoon,  and  the  familiar,  every-day 
world  seems  farther  away  than  those 
other  worlds,  shining  overhead.  He 
speculated  a  good  deal  over  this  new 
preoccupation,  and  more  still  over  the 
sense  of  passive  content  that  had  come  to 
be  associated  with  it. 

For  Geof  was  of  an  active  tempera 
ment  and  possessed  of  but  scant  talent 
for  repose.  This  was  his  first  real  vaca 
tion  in  seven  years,  yet  in  spite  of  his 
good  resolve  to  idle  away  a  month  in 
Venice  for  his  mother's  sake,  he  had 
been  on  the  point  of  finding  an  outlet  for 


144  B  Venetian  3-une 


his  surplus  energies  in  that  tramp  in  the 
Cadore,  when, — just  what  was  it  that  had 
deterred  him  from  cany  ing  out  the  plan  ? 
He  believed,  at  the  time,  that  it  was 
merely  the  prospect  of  better  acquaint 
ance  with  the  prettiest  and  brightest  girl 
it  had  yet  been  vouchsafed  him  to  meet. 
As  he  had  since  heard  May  remark, — 
for  having  once  adopted  an  opinion,  she 
was  fond  of  testing  it  in  more  than  one 
direction, — it  is  such  a  comfort  to  get 
hold  of  anything  superlative  !  He  was 
not  aware  that  the  elder  sister,  who  cer 
tainly  could  not  claim  a  single  superlative 
quality,  had  played  any  part  at  all  in 
that  first  impression  ;  yet  the  thought  of 
her  had  gradually  come  to  be  the  hourly 
companion  of  his  solitude.  And  now, 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  found  him 
self  luxuriating,  not  only  in  solitude,  but 
in  idleness. 

When  he  had  been  making  a  desultory 
sketch,  away  out  toward  Malamocco,  or 
in  among  the  vignoli  in  the  northern 
lagoon,  pausing  perhaps,  for  a  good  five 


B  JScneMctfon  145 

minutes,  between  grassy  banks,  to  listen 
to  the  whistle  of  the  black-bird  in  the 
hedge,  he  felt  no  imperative  call  to  seize 
an  oar  and  double  the  rate  of  speed  on 
the  homeward  way.  On  the  contrary, 
he  found  it  a  perfectly  congenial  occupa 
tion  to  lounge  among  the  cushions  of  the 
gondola  and  let  Pietro  row  him  home  at 
his  own  leisurely  rate,  while  the  two 
good  comrades  had  a  meditative  smoke. 

It  was  because  Geof  was  aware  that 
this  state  of  things  was  abnormal,  that 
he  found  it  perplexing,  and  because, 
much  as  he  enjoyed  the  experience  it 
self,  he  did  not  relish  the  sense  of  hav 
ing  somewhat  lost  his  bearings,  that  he 
was  glad  to  seize  upon  the  clue  which 
he  had  got  hold  of  there  at  the  foot  of 
the  stone  Madonna.  Miss  Beverly  was 
like  his  mother  ;  that  was  all  there  was 
about  it.  Such  a  resemblance  as  that 
would  make  any  face  linger  agreeably  in 
his  thoughts. 

It  had  got  to  be  the  middle  of  June, 
when  parish  processions  are  the  order 


146  B  tDenetian  $une 


of  the  day.  They  were  rowing  up  the 
Grand  Canal,  one  Sunday  afternoon, 
Geof  and  his  mother,  on  their  way  to 
thefesta,  which  was  timed  for  the  latter 
part  of  the  day.  Pietro  and  the  gondola 
were  in  gala  costume,  snow-white  as  to 
Pietro,  and,  as  to  the  gondola,  the  new 
brussels  carpet  of  dark  blue,  to  match 
Pietro's  sash  and  hat-ribbon  and  the 
sea-horse  banner  floating  at  the  bow. 
As  they  passed  under  the  Rialto,  and 
swung  round  the  great  bend  of  the 
Canal,  Geof  observed,  in  an  uncon 
sciously  weighty  tone  :  ' '  Mother,  I  have 
made  a  discovery." 
"  And  that  is?" 
"  Miss  Beverly  looks  like  you." 
At  this  simple  statement  of  fact,  the 
face  of  Geof's  listener  underwent  one  of 
those  subtle  changes  of  expression  which 
the  Colonel,  in  an  inspired  moment,  had 
likened  to  the  play  of  light  upon  the 
waters  of  the  lagoon.  For,  being  gifted 
with  intuition,  unhampered  by  the  more 
laborious  processes  of  the  manly  intel- 


$ene£ncticm 


lect,  Mrs.  Daymoncl  instantly  perceived 
that  Geof  had  confessed  more  than  he 
was  himself  aware. 

She  did  not  reply  at  once  ;  to  her,  too, 
appeared  the  face  of  Pauline  Beverly,  as 
unlike  her  own,  she  thought,  as  well 
might  be,  and  infinitely  more  attractive 
to  her  for  that.  Yes,  there  was  only  one 
thing  that  could  possibly  make  them 
seem  alike  to  Geof.  She  glanced  at  the 
face  beside  her,  so  sound,  so  vigorous, 
so  magnanimous,  as  it  seemed  to  her  par 
tial  eyes.  He  was  gazing  straight  ahead, 
with  the  direct  look  that  his  mother 
liked.  He  did  not  seem  impatient  for 
an  answer  ;  he  had  rather  the  appear 
ance  of  being  pleasantly  absorbed  in  his 
own  thoughts.  It  had  evidently  never 
once  occurred  to  him  to  consider,  in  this 
connection,  how  often  he  had  declared 
that  he  should  never  lose  his  heart  until 
he  had  found  a  girl  who  was  like  his 
mother. 

For  a  moment  she  was  tempted  to  re 
mind  him  of  it, — but  only  for  a  moment. 


148  &  tDenettan 


For  Geof's  mother  was  not  the  woman 
to  take  unfair  advantage  of  a  defence 
less  position,  even  where  her  own  son 
was  concerned.  So  she  only  said,  after 
an  interval  of  .silence  that  Geof  had 
scarcely  noticed  :  "  I  am  glad  you  think 
us  alike,  for  I  have  never  met  a  young 
girl  who  was  as  sympathetic  to  me  as 
Pauline  Beverly." 

"  Sympathetic  !  That  's  it  ;  that  hits 
her  off  exactly  !  "  Geof  declared  ;  and 
then,  with  an  accession  of  spirits  which 
rendered  him  suddenly  loquacious,  "  And 
I  say,  Mother!"  he  exclaimed,  "what 
a  jolly  old  boy  the  Colonel  is  !  I  just 
wish  you  could  have  heard  him  fire  up 
the  other  day,  when  Ken  wick  got  off  one 
of  his  cynicisms  at  the  expense  of  Abra 
ham  Lincoln.  Tell  you  what,  the  sparks 
flew  !  Oliver  was  up  a  tree  like  a  cat  ! 
—Hullo!  There's  the  flag-ship!"  he 
interrupted  his  flow  of  words  to  announce, 
as  they  came  in  sight  of  San  Geremia. 

The  procession,  or  the  component  parts 
of  it,  not  yet  reduced  to  order,  was  just 


Benediction  149 


issuing  from  the  church  ;  priests  and 
choristers  in  their  gay  vestments,  huge 
candles,  flaring  bravely  in  the  face  of 
the  sun,  brilliant  banners  and  gaudy 
images,  all  in  a  confused  mass,  and  the 
people  crowding  on  the  flagged  campo 
before  the  church.  Vittorio's  gondola 
was  disappearing  down  the  broad  Cana- 
reggio  Canal,  and  Pietro  needed  no  bid 
ding  to  follow  after.  The  crowd  of  boats 
of  every  kind,  gondolas,  sandolos,  bar- 
chettas,  batteias,  and  the  score  of  float 
ing  things  that  only  your  true  Venetian 
knows  by  name,  became  so  closely  packed 
in  the  more  restricted  limits  of  the  Cana- 
reggio,  that  it  was  impossible  for  Pietro 
to  get  near  the  sea-horse  on  the  red 
ground,  floating  so  conspicuous,  yet  so 
aggravatingly  unapproachable  a  few  rods 
ahead.  He  did  succeed,  however,  in 
forcing  a  passage  after  it,  and  he  made 
his  way  to  the  three-arched  bridge  which 
spans  the  Canareggio,  and  under  which 
he  passed  to  a  good  point  of  view.  Here 
they  were  obliged  to  tie  to  a  totally  un- 


B  Uenetfan  3-une 


interesting  gondola,  with  the  width  of 
the  closely  packed  canal  between  their 
own  and  the  Colonel's  boat.  They  had 
been  carried  somewhat  farther  along  the 
canal  than  the  others,  but  Pietro  man 
aged  to  turn  his  long  bark  about  so  that 
his  padroni  should  face  the  bridge,  which 
brought  Vittorio's  gondola  also  in  their 
line  of  vision,  and  there  were  friendly 
wavings  of  hats  and  parasols  between 
the  two. 

Presently  the  procession  drew  near, 
and  crossed  the  bridge,  banners  waving, 
candles  flaming,  priests  intoning.  The 
band  struck  up,  and  the  voices  of  the 
priests  were  drowned  in  the  songs  of  the 
choristers. 

The  quay,  on  either  hand,  was  crowded 
with  people  in  gala  dress,  and  from  every 
window,  the  whole  length  of  the  canal, 
bright  flags  and  stuffs  depended,  shawls 
and  variegated  quilts,  table-cloths,  and 
rugs,  whatever  would  take  on  a  festal  air 
in  the  sunshine.  Beautiful  silken  ban 
ners,  too,  waved  from  lines  that  spanned 


B  JBenefcictfon 


the  canal,  High  above  the  heads  of  the 
floating  populace,  their  painted  Saints 
and  Madonnas  shot  luminously  through 
by  the  level  rays  of  the  sun. 

As  the  procession  passed  on  down  the 
quay,  and  the  high  priest  drew  near, 
bearing  the  Host  under  its  embroidered 
canopy,  the  throngs  on  the  fondamenta 
dropped  on  their  knees  to  catch  the  scat 
tered  blessing,  rising  again,  an  instant 
later,  one  group  after  another,  which 
gave  to  the  line  of  figures  an  undulating 
motion,  as  of  a  long,  sinuous  body,  coiling 
and  uncoiling. 

The  pleasure  of  Vittorio's  passengers 
was  not  a  little  heightened  by  the  proxim 
ity  of  Nanni's  old  gondola,  which  lay  only 
one  boat's  width  removed  from  their  own, 
and  was  filled  to  over-flowing  with  the 
wives  and  children  of  his  two  gondolier 
brothers.  The  Signorinas  were  by  this 
time  on  terms  of  intimacy  with  Vittorio's 
family,  their  chief  pet  among  the  children 
being  the  smallest  boy,  always  spoken  of 
by  his  adoring  parents  as  the  piccolo  Gio- 


152  21  Venetian  3une 


vanni.  "Pickle  Johnny,"  Uncle  Dan 
called  him,  and,  being  a  specialist  in 
names,  the  Colonel  had  no  sooner  invented 
one  for  this  small  and  rather  obstreperous 
manikin,  than  he  took  him  into  his  par 
ticular  favor. 

The  attention  of  the  girls,  meanwhile, 
was  pretty  evenly  divided  between  the 
moving  show  upon  the  quay  and  the 
quite  as  active  contingent  in  Nanni's  gon 
dola.  Indeed  there  were  about  as  many 
babies  in  the  one  as  in  the  other,  for  it  is 
a  pretty  and  child-like  fancy  of  the  Vene 
tians  to  dress  up  their  children  as  saints 
and  angels,  and  lead  them,  with  a  becom 
ing  reverence,  not  all  untouched  by  van 
ity,  in  the  wake  of  the  holy  men.  Here 
were  small  Franciscans  in  their  brown 
cowls,  tiny  St.  Johns,  clad  in  sheep-skins 
and  armed  with  crosses,  little  queens  of 
heaven  in  trailing  garments  of  blue  tarle- 
ton,  and  toddling  white  angels,  with 
spangled  wings  and  hair  tightly  crimped. 
As  the  last  of  these  heavenly  appari 
tions  disappeared  down  a  dark  alley, 


8  JSenedtction  153 


"  Pickle  Johnny  "  set  up  a  howl  of  disap 
pointment,  which  his  mother  tried  in  vain 
to  suppress.  In  vain  did  his  father  scowl 
upon  him  over  the  heads  of  his  passen 
gers  in  a  semblance  of  terrible  wrath,  in 
vain  did  his  uncle  produce  a  row-lock 
for  his  delectation  ;  "  Pickle  Johnny  " 
mourned  the  loss  of  the  last  baby  angel 
and  would  not  be  comforted. 

May  was  looking  on  with  an  amuse 
ment  that  was  not  without  relish,  when, 
chancing  to  glance  at  the  harrassed  face 
of  Nanni,  the  most  conspicuous  victim  of 
"  Pickle  Johnny's  "  ill-judged  exhibi 
tion  of  feeling,  she  experienced  a  sudden 
change  of  mood,  and  came  instantly  to 
the  rescue. 

"Let  me  take  the  bambino''  she 
begged.  "  I  can  make  him  good." 

The  mother,  a  stout,  comely  woman  in 
a  plain  black  gown,  demurred  decorously, 
but  was  glad  enough  to  yield,  and  Nanni, 
taking  the  child  in  his  arms,  stepped 
across  the  intervening  gondola,  to  which 
his  own  was  tied,  and  deposited  his  won- 


i54  B  Venetian  5une 


dering  burden  in  the  arms  of  the  Signor- 
ina  who  stood  up  to  receive  it.  As  he 
did  so,  that  flash  of  grateful  recognition 
which  he  was  so  chary  of,  crossed  his  grave 
face.  Then,  before  "  Pickle  Johnny  " 
could  decide  upon  any  definite  line  of  ac 
tion,  the  Signorina  made  haste  to  divert 
his  mind  by  surrendering  to  him  the 
cluster  of  silver  trinkets  which  dangled 
from  her  belt.  Pencil  and  pen-knife, 
scent-bottle,  glove-buttoner,  and,  best  of 
all,  a  tiny  mirror,  in  which  he  viewed  his 
still  tearful  countenance  with  undisguised 
satisfaction. 

Uncle  Dan  looked  on  indulgently,  and 
Pietro's  passengers,  over  the  way,  found 
the  scene  worthy  of  attention,  as  did 
others  of  the  floating  audience.  The 
golden  head,  bent  over  the  swarthy  little 
cherub,  was  a  sight  that  would  have  at 
tracted  Oliver  Ken  wick's  notice,  for  ex 
ample,  even  if  he  had  had  no  personal 
interest  in  the  chief  actor.  He  was  with 
some  New  York  friends,  in  a  gondola 
three  or  four  boat-lengths  away,  and  so 


Benediction  155 


absorbed  was  he  in  the  little  drama,  that, 
when  a  remark  was  addressed  to  him  that 
called  for  a  retort,  his  gift  of  repartee 
quite  failed  him. 

Presently  the  sound  of  wind  instru 
ments  again  made  itself  heard,  and  again 
the  procession  emerged  from  the  narrow 
by-ways  where  the  blessing  had  been 
plentifully  strewn,  and  moved  up  the 
quay  toward  the  three-arched  bridge. 
By  this  time  the  poor  little  saints  and 
angels  were  pretty  tired  and  draggled. 
The  small  St.  John,  in  a  very  bad  tem 
per,  was  banging  about  him  with  his 
cross,  while  the  queen  of  heaven,  reduced 
to  tears  of  anguished  fatigue,  had  been 
picked  up  in  the  strong  arms  of  her 
father,  where  she  wras  on  the  point  of 
dropping  asleep.  "  Pickle  Johnny,"  too, 
was  getting  fretful  again,  having  ex 
hausted  the  charms  of  scent-bottle  and 
toy  looking-glass,  and  May  was  begin 
ning  to  repent  of  her  bargain. 

"Give  him  to  me,"  said  Pauline. 
"  He  is  sleepy,  poor  little  tot  !  " 


156  B  Venetian  3une 

She  took  him  in  her  arms,-  and  in 
thirty  seconds  the  little  tot  was  fast 
asleep.  Oliver  Ken  wick  became  once 
more  available  for  social  purposes.  There 
was  nothing  picturesque,  nothing  effec 
tive  about  this  ;  it  would  not  have  at 
tracted  attention  any  more  than  the  sight 
of  a  young  mother,  holding  her  sleeping 
child. 

The  gondola  lay  with  its  stern  toward 
the  bridge,  which  the  procession  was 
crossing,  and  Pauline  sat  facing  the  open 
lagoon,  where  the  sunset  light  already 
showed  warm  and  mellow.  She  turned 
a  bit  in  her  seat,  to  see  the  bright  ban 
ners  and  the  candle-flames  cross  the 
bridge,  and  presently  the  high  priest 
with  his  attendants  had  paused  upon 
the  central  arch.  At  the  stroke  of  a 
bell  the  Host  was  lifted,  and  all  the 
populace  fell  upon  their  knees.  Vittorio, 
in  his  snowy  costume,  knelt  at  the  stern 
of  his  boat,  Nanni,  darkly  clad,  inclined 
his  head  and  bent  his  knee,  while  the 
little  children  in  his  gondola  dropped 


JBenefctction  157 


like  a  flock  of  doves  upon  the  floor, 
where  they  huddled  together,  heads 
down,  and  eyes  peering  out.  Old  fisher 
men  in  their  blue  blouses,  aged  women, 
stiff  and  slow,  managed  somehow  to  get 
upon  their  knees.  The  Colonel  stood, 
hat  in  hand,  facing  the  bridge,  while 
May  glanced,  with  bright  interest,  from 
one  picturesque  figure  to  another,  not 
ing  the  fact,  in  passing,  that  Geoffry 
Daymond's  hat  was  lifted,  and  Oliver 
Kenwick's  was  not. 

Pauline  sat  with  her  head  bent  over 
the  sleeping  child.  At  the  sound  of  the 
third  bell,  which  wras  the  signal  for  all 
that  multitude  to  cross  themselves  and 
rise  to  their  feet,  she  lifted  the  chubby 
hand,  and  made  the  sign  of  the  cross 
with  it  upon  the  little  breast.  She  did 
it  as  simply  and  naturally  as  if  she  had 
been  the  best  Catholic  of  them  all. 

A  moment  later,  "  Pickle  Johnny," 
with  the  blessing  upon  his  drowsy  little 
person,  had  been  handed  back  to  his 
uncle,  and  Vittorio  was  skillfully  making 


158  B  Venetian  5une 

his  way  out  among  the  thronging  craft 
toward  the  lagoon,  which  was  swimming 
in  a  golden  mist. 

Pietro  rowed  in  the  other  direction, 
and  there  was  a  friendly  exchange  of 
greetings  between  the  passing  gondolas. 

"Did  you  see  that?"  Geoffry  asked, 
as  they  came  out  upon  the  broad  bosom 
of  the  Grand  Canal. 

"Yes;  I  saw  it,  Geof,"  his  mother 
answered;  "I  feel  as  if  we  had  all 
received  the  benediction." 


rR 
ti 


all  the  ques- 
onings  and 
probings  which  May 
Beverly  applied  to  the  suc 
cessive  phenomena  of  the  world 
about  her,  she  had  passed  her 
'  twenty  years  as  light  of  heart  and  as 
free  of  real  perplexities  as  any  fifteenth- 
century  maiden  in  her  turret  chamber. 
Prosperous  and  sheltered  as  her  youth 
had  been,  she  had,  up  to  this  time,  appre 
hended  scarcely  anything  of  the  real 
drama  of  life. 

Whether  it  was  due  to  a  seasonable  and 


160  a  Venetian  5une 

inevitable  development,  or  to  a  quickening 
of  the  imagination  caused  by  the  potent 
loveliness  of  Venice,  it  was  certainly  true 
that  the  young  girl  was  passing  through 
a  new  and  curiously  stimulating  experi 
ence.  Many  things  had  been  revealed 
to  her  of  late,  which  as  yet  she  only 
half  comprehended  ;  for  whereas  she  had 
formerly  had  an  eye  only  for  details,  she 
was  now  beginning  to  combine  and  inter 
pret  ;  and  having  hitherto  been  chiefly 
occupied  with  the  surface,  she  was  learn 
ing  to  divine,  if  not  to  penetrate,  the 
depths.  It  was  doubtless  due  to  this 
general  rousing  of  the  imagination,  to 
which  she  perhaps  owed  her  unalterable 
conviction  that  Vittorio's  brother  had, 
in  some  mysterious  way,  been  singled  out 
by  misfortune,  that  the  thought  of  him 
had  come  to  play  so  large  a  part  in  her 
consciousness. 

It  was  quite  true,  as  she  declared,  that 
neither  she  nor  Pauline  had  ever  suc 
ceeded  in  attaining  to  the  easy  and  spon 
taneous  footing  with  him  which  had  been 


Bt  Gorcello  161 


established  with  Vittorio  from  the  very 
first.  Vittorio  was  both  gay  and  com 
municative,  and  none  the  less  a  perfect 
servant  for  that.  He  would  row  by  the 
hour,  without  volunteering  a  remark,  yet 
a  friendly  word  never  failed  to  elicit  the 
flashing  smile  and  ready  response  which 
conferred  such  grace  upon  him.  A  little 
diplomacy  on  the  part  of  the  girls  had 
effected  an  entrance  to  his  house,  and  to 
his  confidence.  They  knew  that  he  had 
married  his  Ninetta  without  a  dowry 
because  "she  pleased  him,"  and  that 
their  eldest  child  had  died  of  a  fever  ; 
that  Constanza  was  the  scholar  of  the 
family,  and  Giulia  the  caretaker.  They 
knew  that  the  eldest  boy  was  named  for 
one  of  his  grandfathers,  and  the  second 
for  the  other  ;  that  the  third  bo}r,  Vittorio, 
wanted  to  be  a  soldier,  and  that  the  pic 
colo  Giovanni  was  going  to  be  the  best 
gondolier  of  them  all.  They  knew  why 
a  light  was  always  burning,  day  and 
night,  before  the  little  image  of  the  Ma 
donna  on  the  stairs,  and  why  the  whole 


162  B  Venetian  3une 


family  had  made  a  pious  pilgrimage  to 
the  church  of  San  Antonio  at  Padua  the 
previous  year.  They  knew  how  severe 
the  father  of  Vittorio  and  Nanni  had 
been  to  his  boys  ;  how  he  had,  on  more 
than  one  occasion,  pitched  them  over 
board,  straight  into  the  canal,  yet  how 
he  was,  nevertheless,  "  a  just  man  "  ! 
They  were  acquainted  with  Vittorio' s 
harmlessly  revolutionary  views,  and  with 
his  reasons  for  not  voting.  They  were 
familiar  with  his  simple  creed,  to  hope  all 
things  and  leave  the  rest  to  the  Madonna. 
And  of  Nanni 's  experiences  and  beliefs 
they  knew  nothing. 

During  the  week  when  he  had  served 
them  as  gondolier  he  had  never  volun 
teered  a  remark,  and  he  had  given  only 
the  shortest  possible  answers  when  ad 
dressed.  Yet  upon  the  mind  of  May,  at 
least,  his  personality  had  made  a  strong 
impression.  His  tall,  poorly  clad  figure, 
swaying  at  the  oar,  his  sombre,  almost 
tragic  gaze,  fixed  straight  before  him, 
his  deep,  grave  voice,  not  more  musical, 


Bt  tTorcelto  163 


but  more  perfectly  modulated  than  his 
brother's, — all  went  to  form  an  enigma 
and  an  appeal. 

Since  his  release  from  their  service  they 
had  met  him  several  times,  rowing  quite 
by  himself  in  his  shabby  old  gondola. 
Once  they  had  come  upon  him  out  by 
St.  George  in  the  Seaweed  where  the 
loveliest  of  all  the  parasol  Madonnas 
keeps  guard  over  the  still  lagoon.  He 
could  have  had  no  prosaic  errand  there. 
Was  it  because  he  loved  the  beauty  of  the 
scene,  the  grace  and  poetry  of  the  dear 
young  mother  with  the  child,  keeping 
their  watch  of  centuries,  above  the  old 
red  wall  where  the  lizards  sun  them 
selves  ?  Or  had  he  gone  there  to  say 
an  ave,  as  the  pretty  Catholic  custom  is  ? 

Another  time  they  had  encountered 
Nanni's  boat  when  they  were  rowing  out 
towards  San  Clemente  in  the  starlight. 
There  were  stars  in  the  water  as  in  the 
sky,  and  the  city  was  hidden  behind  the 
Giudecca,  but  the  great  campanile,  show 
ing  pale  and  mysterious  in  the  lights  of 


164  &  Venetian  3une 


the  Piazza,  sent  its  white  shaft  far  down 
into  the  water  of  the  lagoon  on  the  hither 
side  of  the  dark  Giudecca.  As  the  shad 
owy  gondola,  with  its  tiny  light,  came 
stealing  over  the  star-strewn  water,  May 
recognized  the  solitary  oarsman.  Some 
thing  withheld  her  from  commenting  on 
the  fact,  and  when,  a  few  seconds  later, 
Vittorio  exclaimed,  "  Ecco,  miofratello  !  " 
Uncle  Dan  had  remarked  what  quick 
eyes  these  fellows  have,  and  that  nobody 
else  could  have  recognized  a  man  in  the 
dark,  like  that.  And  May  had  said 
nothing,  and  the  fact  that  she  had  kept 
silence  gave  her  a  curious  pang  of  un 
willing  self-consciousness.  So  she  began 
talking  very  fast  of  the  Bellini  Madonnas 
in  the  church  of  the  Redentore,  whose 
great  dome  towered  black  against  the 
hovering  reflection  of  the  city  lights,  and 
of  how  they  were  not  Bellinis  after  all, 
and  since  experts  could  make  such  bad 
blunders,  whom  were  you  to  trust  ? 

They   had    had    no    intercourse   with 
Nanni    since   the    day  they   had    rowed 


Eorcello  165 


out  to  the  Porto  del  Lido,  and  May  had 
protested  against  the  ocean  swell.  She 
often  thought  of  the  sensation  it  had 
caused  in  her,  and  a  curious  longing  had 
come  over  her  to  feel  once  more  that 
strange,  disconcerting  thrill. 

She  wondered  whether  she  should  ever 
have  a  chance  to  speak  to  Nanni  and 
make  him  the  offer  of  a  gondola  ;  she 
wondered  if  his  face  would  flash  with 
pleasure  and  gratitude.  Would  he  tell 
her  why  he  had  chosen  exile  from  the  life 
and  occupation  he  loved  so  well  ?  Would 
he  tell  her  something  about  himself,  give 
her  the  key  to  his  strange  melancholy 
and  reserve?  She  had  very  little  hope 
of  such  a  consummation,  but  she  was  de 
termined  to  make  the  attempt  at  the  first 
opportunity. 

And  a  few  days  after  the  Procession  at 
the  Canareggio,  when  he  had  so  grate 
fully  handed  "Pickle  Johnny"  over  to 
her  care,  the  opportunity  presented  itself. 
For  on  that  day  the  red  and  blue  banners 
made  the  long-anticipated  trip  to  Tor- 


166  B  Venetian  3-une 


cello,  that  ancient  cradle  of  Venice  that 
rocks  on  the  bosom  of  the  lagoon,  miles 
away  to  the  northward.  An  extra  oar 
was  requisite  for  each  gondola,  and 
Nanni  was  drafted  for  the  occasion.  Old 
Pietro  brought  with  him  a  slender  slip  of 
a  grandson,  a  boy  of  sixteen,  Angelo  by 
name,  who  made  up  in  skill  and  elasticity 
for  the  robustness  yet  to  come. 

Kenwick  was  of  the  party,  and  in  great 
spirits  ;  but  indeed  there  was  not  one  of 
them  all  who  was  not  sensible  of  that 
agreeable  exhilaration  which  attends  a 
propitious  start.  The  morning  was  true 
Venetian,  soft  and  fair  as  a  dream.  Sweet 
scents  were  wafted  over  the  water,  and  no 
one  thought  to  question  whence  they 
came.  The  men  pulled  with  a  will,  for  it 
was  a  long  trip,  and  all  too  soon  they 
found  themselves  thridding  their  way 
through  low  banked  water-ways  to  the 
landing  near  the  quaint  old  church  of 
Santa  Fosca,  their  coming  hailed  with 
joy  by  a  rapidly  recruited  army  of  raga 
muffins.  Immediately  upon  landing  Vit- 


Bt  tTorcello  l67 

torio  and  Angelo  were  despatched  to  a 
neighboring  cottage  in  search  of  chairs 
and  table,  and  presently  the  party  were 
established  at  their  luncheon  under  the 
beautiful  colonade  of  the  Cathedral. 

The  ragamuffins,  encouraged  by  a  very 
ill-advised  distribution  of  coppers  which 
had  taken  place  at  their  first  onslaught, 
were  collecting  about  the  table  with  clam 
orous  entreaties  for  I  ultimo.      Uncle  Dan 
had  begun  it  by  his  inability  to  resist  the 
supplicating  eyes  of  a  beatific  midget  who 
chewed    the  hem  of  her   frock   with  the 
whitest  of  little  teeth.     Kenwick,  taking 
his  cue  from  the  Colonel,  had  mischiev 
ously    carried  out  the  principle,   by  pre 
senting  a  soldo  to  each  one  of  the  assembly 
having    the   slightest  pretence  to  comeli 
ness.     Upon  which  the  two  Pollys,   un 
able  to  tolerate  such  cruel  discrimination, 
had  offered  prompt  reparation  to  the  feel 
ings  of  the  ugly  ones.     The  consequence 
was,  that  Vittorio    and  Angelo  passed  a 
lively  half-hour  in  the  r61e  .of  sheep-dogs, 
keeping  the  small  and  ravening  wolves  at 


Venetian  June 


bay  while  the  meal  was  going  forward, 
dodging  about  after  them  among  the  pil 
lars  of  the  colonade,  and  conjuring  them, 
with  awful  threats,  to  keep  their  distance, 
or  else  they  should  receive  niente,  niente  ! 
Happily  the  supply  of  food  was  double 
the  legitimate  demand,  and  while  the  gon 
doliers  returned  the  table  and  chairs  the 
two  young  men  amused  themselves  and 
the  rest  of  the  company,  by  feeding  the 
little  beggars.  It  was  an  engrossing 
sport  for  all  concerned,  and  May,  seeing 
her  opportunity,  slipped  away  to  the 
landing. 

She  found  the  two  gondolas  moored  a 
few  rods  down  the  rio,  lying  close  to  the 
shore  in  the  shadow  of  the  alder  bushes 
that  leaned  sociably  over  the  bank.  Pie- 
tro  was  lying  flat  on  the  floor  of  his  boat, 
fast  asleep  ;  Nanni,  whose  gondola  was 
the  first  she  came  to,  was  sitting  in  the 
bow  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  which  he 
slipped  into  his  pocket  at  the  approach  of 
the  Signorina.  His  hat  was  lying  on  the 
floor,  and  the  flickering  shadows  of  the 


Bt  Gorcello  169 


leaves  on  his  face  and  figure  made  a  peace 
ful  impression  of  summer  and  happy  ease. 

"  Oh,  Nanni  ;  would  you  please  hand 
me  my  sketch  book?"  May  asked,  as 
she  came  up,  and  stood  on  the  bank  above 
him.  He  was  already  on  his  feet,  and  he 
stooped  for  the  book,  which  he  handed  to 
her  with  his  curiously  inexpressive  man 
ner. 

The  young  girl  hesitated  a  moment, 
half  abashed  by  the  stillness  and  the  soli 
tude  and  the  stately  deference  of  this 
man  whose  life  she  was  so  desirous  of  in 
fluencing.  But  she  had  too  much  spirit 
to  retreat,  and  as  Nanni  stood  before  her, 
grave  and  respectful,  she  said,  in  her 
carefully  correct,  curiously  unidiomatic 
Italian  :  "  Nanni,  I  am  not  content  to 
have  you  go  back  to  Milan.  You  were 
born  to  be  a  gondolier.  It  cannot  be  that 
you  do  anything  else  as  well,  or  that  you 
like  any  other  life,  really.  Wait,"  she 
commanded,  as  he  seemed  about  to  inter 
pose.  "  You  must  let  me  finish.  I  want, 
— I  want — "  and  a  sudden  confusion 


170  B  Venetian  3une 


seized  her  ;  "I  want  to  make  you  a  pres 
ent  of  a  gondola." 

She  paused  and  looked  down  upon  him, 
with  earnest,  supplicating  eyes.  She  did 
so  dearly  long  to  gain  her  point  ;  she  was 
so  sure,  so  touchingly  sure  that  she  knew 
best, — and  then,  the  face  before  her, — 
what  was  it  that  it  said  ?  There  was  no 
grateful  flash,  only  an  increased  dig 
nity  and  reserve. 

"Signorina,"  he  said,  very  gently, 
with  a  high-bred  restraint  of  manner  that 
impressed  her  strangely,  and  increased 
her  confusion,  adding  to  it,  indeed,  a  sense 
of  insufficiency  and  incompetence  that 
she  had  never  before  experienced  :  "  Sig 
norina, — you  mistake  me  and  my  life.  I 
am  not  at  liberty  to  say  what  would  surely 
set  your  mind  at  rest,  but, — I  have  no 
wish  to  change  my  life,  and, — I  cannot 
accept  your  gift." 

She  had  thought  to  press  the  matter, 
to  represent  to  him  his  own  short-sighted 
ness,  his  misapprehension  of  his  own  best 
good  ;  but  she  found  it  impossible  to  urge 


Bt  Gorcello 


her  case.  She  felt  herself  confronted  with 
a  will  so  much  stronger  than  her  own 
that  she  had  not  a  word  to  say.  She 
only  murmured  :  "  I  am  very  sorry  about 
it,"  and  was  turning  dejectedly  away, 
when  Nanni's  voice  arrested  her. 

"Signorina,"  he  cried,  "  Signorina, 
will  you  not  forgive  me  ?  " 

She  turned,  and  there  was  a  look  of 
entreaty,  a  touch  of  real  emotion  in  his 
face  which  startled  her. 

''Why,  Naimi,"  she  said  ;  "there  is 
nothing  to  forgive.  You  know  best." 
She  had  not  often  said  those  three  words 
in  the  easy  self-confidence  of  her  youth. 
"You  know  best,"  she  said.  "It  is  I 
who  should  beg  pardon  for  thinking  I 
knew." 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him,  as 
naturally  as  she  would  have  done  to 
Geoffry  Daymond,  and  Nanni,  stooping, 
lifted  it  to  his  lips. 

The  child  did  not  know  that  it  was  the 
universal  custom  of  his  class  ;  that  there 
was  nothing  else  to  be  done  when  a 


172  B  Venetian  Sune 


gentlewoman  extended  her  hand  to  a 
gondolier.  She  only  knew  it  was  the 
first  time  in  her  life  that  such  a  thing  had 
happened  to  her,  and  she  turned  away  in 
much  perturbation. 

She  found  herself  face  to  face  with 
Geoffry  Daymond,  who  was  coming  along 
the  bank  in  search  of  her. 

"Ah,  here  you  are,"  he  cried  gaily. 
"  We  thought  we  might  have  made  a 
mistake  and  fed  you  to  the  populace  ! 
The  little  brutes  have  eaten  every  edible 
crumb  we  had,  and  seemed  to  want  to 
try  their  appetites  on  the  table-cloth. 
Now  we  are  all  going  up  the  tower  of 
the  cathedral  to  have  a  look  at  things." 

She  wondered  whether  Daymond  had 
seen  that  strange  and  rather  dreadful 
thing  that  had  happened.  Had  she 
known  him  better,  she  would  have  been 
sure  that  his  burst  of  eloquence  could 
have  but  one  interpretation.  He  had 
seen  and  wondered  ;  two  facts  which 
must  be  suppressed. 

As  May  and  Geof  came  up  the  path, 


Bt  ftorcello  173 


Kenwick,  who  was  sitting  in  the  stone 
chair  which  is  accredited  to  the  ancient 
Attila,  observed  the  look  of  slowly  sub 
siding  emotion  in  the  young  girl's  face, 
and  a  sudden  pang  seized  him,  whether 
of  friendly  concern  or  of  selfish  annoy 
ance,  he  would  have  been  the  last  to  in 
quire.  That  they  should  have  passed 
him  by,  in  his  picturesque  situation,  with 
out  a  word,  thus  cutting  him  off  from 
the  delivery  of  a  witticism  which  he  had 
concocted  for  their  edification,  was  cer 
tainly  a  grievance,  and  as  he  rose  to  his 
feet,  unregarded,  and  followed  after,  it  is 
perhaps  not  to  be  wondered  at,  if  the 
thought  crossed  his  mind,  that  it  might 
be  worth  while  to  cut  Geof  out. 


£  1T1T.   B  promotion. 

'^'ORCELLO  offers  a  number  of  diver- 
Vi/  sions  besides  that  of  camping  under 
the  colonade,  or  sitting  in  the  chair  of 
Attila,  and  May  had  soon  found  relief 
from  her  momentary  discomfiture,  in  the 
somewhat  arduous  exercise  of  climbing 
to  the  top  of  the  cathedral  tower,  and  in 
readjusting  her  mistaken  notions  as  to 
the  relative  position  of  the  various  islands 
in  the  northern  lagoon.  Venice,  floating 
like  a  dream-city  upon  the  brimming  tide, 
was  not  at  all  in  the  direction  in  which 
May  had  expected  to  find  it  ;  indeed,  so 
fixed  was  her  idea  of  its  proper  where 
abouts,  that  she  was  within  an  ace  of 
becoming  argumentative  on  the  subject. 
174 


B  promotion  175 

Her  amusingly  irrational  attitude  gave 
rise  to  some  lively  sparring  between  her 
self  and  Kenwick,  who  was  at  even  more 
pains  than  usual  to  monopolize  her  at 
tention,  both  then  and  afterwards. 

On  their  return  to  sea-level,  it  was  he 
who  pointed  out  to  her  each  detail  of  the 
antique  mosaics  and  other  mediaeval 
quaintnesses  of  the  cathedral  ;  it  was  he 
who  gave  her  a  rapid  sketch  of  the  his 
tory  of  the  island, — recently  gleaned  from 
guide-books; — and  when,  presently,  the 
whole  party  went  for  a  stroll  in  a  flower- 
strewn  meadow,  he  took  such  decided 
possession  of  her,  that  the  two  were  al 
lowed  to  fall  back,  and  discuss  at  their 
leisure  one  and  another  question  of  vital 
interest  which  he  brought  forward. 

In  the  intervals  of  conversation  Ken- 
wick,  watching  the  straggling  group  in 
front,  found  it  curiously  gratifying  to  ob 
serve  that  Daymond  did  not  seem  to  have 
much  to  say  for  himself.  Kenwick  had 
not  by  any  means  made  tip  his  mind  to 
cut  Geof  out,  but  the  possibility  of  such 


Venetian  3une 


a  feat  gave  a  new  zest  to  his  intercourse 
with  May.  He  was  one  of  those  men 
who,  in  their  admirations  at  least,  un 
consciously  take  their  cue  from  others. 
His  judgments  were  not  spontaneous, 
and  the  value  he  placed  upon  any  good 
thing  was  greatly  enhanced  by  the  knowl 
edge  that  it  was  an  object  of  desire  to 
other  persons.  Even  in  the  pursuit  of 
his  art,  he  was  governed  less  by  a  spirit 
of  praiseworthy  emulation  than  by  the 
sentiment  of  rivalry. 

Having,  then,  definitely  conceived  the 
idea,  which  had,  indeed,  been  hovering 
in  his  mind  for  some  time,  that  Geoffrey 
Daymorid  was  seriously  interested  in  May 
Beverly,  the  situation  had  gained  a 
piquancy  which  Kenwick  found  ex 
tremely  seductive.  He  was  far  too  wed 
ded  to  his  career  of  "  free-lance," — a 
title  which  he  took  no  little  pride  in 
appropriating,— to  have  regarded  with 
equanimity  that  awkward  contingency 
which  goes  by  the  name  of  consequences, 
but  he  was  fond  of  playing  with  fire,  as 


ftromotiott  177 


over  self-confident  people  are  apt  to  be. 
It  must  also  be  admitted  that  he  took  a 
very  real  pleasure  in  the  bright  beauty 
and  alert  intellect  of  the  young  student 
of  life  who  carried  her  golden  head  so 
high  and  free,  and  with  so  individual  a 
grace. 

That  he  could,  if  he  would,  gain  an 
influence  over  this  frankly  impressionable 
nature,  he  did  not  for  a  moment  doubt. 
Indeed,  he  had  never  doubted  his  ability 
to  win  the  interest  of  any  woman,  and 
since  he  had  never  been  so  ill-advised  as 
to  put  his  fortunes  to  the  touch,  nothing 
had  yet  occurred  to  disturb  his  self-con 
fidence. 

To-day,  as  he  sauntered  beside  May 
Beverly  in  the  quiet  green  meadow,  in 
shadow  for  the  moment,  only  because  a 
cloud  had  floated  across  the  sun, — so  re 
cently,  that  the  insects  had  not  ceased  to 
hum,  and  sweet  odors  still  told  how  herbs 
and  flowers  had  been  steeped  in  sunshine 
but  a  moment  since, — he  experienced  a 
relish  of  life  such  as  had  only  occasionally 


B  Venetian  5une 


fallen  to  his  share.  And  when,  presently, 
the  sun  came  out  in  full  force,  inducing 
the  four  more  taciturn  strollers  to  retrace 
their  steps,  Kenwick  felt  that  blaze  of 
light  to  be  doubly  inopportune. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  flotilla  was 
again  on  its  way,  awnings  spread,  and 
flags  flying.  A  breeze  had  sprung  up, 
and  when  they  were  free  of  the  Burano 
canals,  they  found  the  water  delicately 
ruffled.  It  was  the  sweetest,  gayest  little 
breeze,  and  in  sheer  exuberance  of  shallow 
emotion,  the  tiny  waves  plashed  about 
the  prow. 

May,  who  was  sailing  under  the  blue 
banner  on  this  occasion,  glanced  now  and 
then  across  the  water,  at  the  figure  of 
Nanni,  rowing  the  forward  oar.  She 
had  not  quite  her  usual  vivacity,  a  fact 
which  did  not  escape  the  attention  of 
Kenwick  in  the  other  boat,  and  one  upon 
which  he  was  at  liberty  to  put  any  inter 
pretation  he  chose. 

The  tide  was  in  their  favor,  and  they 
were  making  such  good  speed  that  the 


B  promotion  179 

oarsmen  petitioned  for  a  detour  among 
the  canals  of  San  Erasmus,  where  are 
market-gardens  and  fields  and  hedges. 
It  was  here  that  Geof  had  listened  to  the 
whistle  of  the  black-bird  only  the  other 
day,  as  his  boat  lay  moored  to  the  bank, 
while  he  sketched  the  tiniest  of  little 
chapels,  nestling  modestly  in  the  sparse 
shade  of  two  dark  cypresses.  His  mind 
recurred  to  that  peaceful  hour,  as  he  chat 
ted  in  desultory  fashion  with  May,  but 
those  quiet  musings  seemed  very  far  away 
and  unreal  in  the  clear,  matter-of-fact 
atmosphere  that  that  charming  young 
person  created  about  her,  even  in  her 
quieter  moods.  To  still  further  deter  him 
from  sentimental  reminiscences,  two  small 
curs  rushed  forward  on  the  left  bank  of 
the  tranquil  water  pathway,  barking 
vigorously,  and  rousing  to  an  equally 
noisy  demonstration  another  pair  of  sen 
tinels  on  the  opposite  shore. 

As  the  gondolas  went  their  way,  how 
ever,  without  evincing  any  intention  of 
trespassing  on  dry  land,  the  dogs  sub- 


i8o  B  Venetian  5une 


sided,  and  in  the  sudden  lull  that  followed, 
other  senses  than  that  of  hearing  were 
quickened.  May  was  just  rousing  to 
wonder  what  it  was  that  smelt  so  sweet, 
when  Angelo,  unable  to  resist  the  occa 
sion,  turned,  and  touching  his  hat,  re 
marked,  with  laconic  eloquence  :  ' '  Straw 
berries  "  ;  a  suggestion  which  was  not  to 
be  resisted. 

They  moored  at  a  modest  landing,  in 
the  shadow  of  an  acacia  tree,  when  Geof 
and  Angelo  were  promptly  dispatched 
upon  a  foraging  expedition,  the  ambi 
tious  stripling,  who  had  so  boldly  taken  the 
initiative,  beaming  broadly  at  the  success 
of  his  venture.  May  stepped  forward  and 
took  her  favorite  seat  on  the  gondola  steps, 
and,  as  the  other  boat  came  up  and  tied 
to  theirs,  Kenwick  was  brought  face  to 
face  with  her. 

"  Strawberries?  "  he  repeated,  in  reply 
to  the  joyful  announcement ;  ' '  my  life  is 
saved  !  "  Then,  in  a  low  voice  :  "  I  have 
been  simply  starving  ever  since  we  left 
Torcello, ' '  he  averred. 


B  promotion  iSi 

"You  have?"  May  exclaimed,  with 
discouraging  literalness.  ' '  I  suppose  it 
is  the  breeze,  or  perhaps  the  walk  in  the 
meadows." 

"Yes,"  Kenwick  answered,  and  there 
was  something  so  very  like  sincerity  in 
his  tone,  that  it  did  convey  a  dim  im 
pression  of  what  was  almost  a  genu 
ine  feeling;  "it  was  the  walk  in  the 
meadow  !  " 

May  laughed  lightly,  yet  a  trifle  con 
strainedly,  he  pleased  himself  with  fancy 
ing.  "You  shall  starve  no  more,"  she 
said,  "  for  here  are  the  strawberries." 

The  two  ambassadors  were  striding 
down  a  rural  path,  their  hands  laden  with 
small  baskets  of  diminutive  scarlet  straw 
berries.  At  their  heels  came  three  dogs 
and  one  cat,  acting  as  van-guard  to  a 
woman  and  a  young  girl,  who  carried 
blue  china  plates  of  most  aesthetic  home 
liness.  A  small  and  bashful  boy  was 
clinging  to  his  mother's  skirts,  taking, 
perhaps,  his  first  impressions  of  the  great 
world. 


182  21  Denetian 


' '  Scusi,  Signorina  !  ' ' 

It  was  Nanni,  stepping  across  Pietro's 
gondola  to  get  ashore.  May  looked  up 
and  her  eyes  met  those  of  the  gondolier. 

"  Prcgo"  she  answered,  and  there  was 
a  gentle  courtesy  in  her  voice,  and  a  kind 
ness  in  her  eyes,  that  would  have  been 
grateful  to  any  man.  As  Nanni  stepped 
ashore  and  joined  his  brother  and  old 
Pietro  under  the  trees,  it  may  be  that  he 
blessed  her  for  them.  But  he  had  betrayed 
no  pleasure,  and  once  more  a  sense  of 
the  sadness  of  life  stole  like  a  shadow 
across  the  young  girl's  spirit. 

To  divert  her  thoughts,  and  to  have  an 
excuse  for  turning  her  back  on  Kenwick, 
she  tried  making  friends  with  the  basliful 
bambino,  who  had  seated  himself  upon 
the  grassy  bank  and  was  gazing  furtively 
at  her  bright  silk  waist. 

Kenwick  took  the  little  ruse  kindly. 
He  had  noticed  that  she  spoke  to  Nanni 
in  a  subdued  tone,  and  he  flattered  him 
self  that  he  had  the  key  to  her  change  of 
mood.  He  employed  himself  with  hand- 


B  promotion 


ing  plates  about,  while  Geof   dispensed 
the  strawberries. 

It  was  a  pretty  and  peaceful  scene. 
Ken  wick  had  stepped  into  Mrs.  Day- 
moiid's  gondola,  and  was  invited  to  take 
the  seat  beside  her  ;  Geof  stood  on  the 
shore,  talking  with  the  men.  Uncle  Dan 
and  Pauline,  sitting  side  by  side,  found 
their  attention  about  equally  divided 
between  the  toothsome  strawberries  and 
the  little  drama  going  on  between  May 
and  the  bambino. 

May  had  shared  her  fruit  with  the 
child,  and  now  she  was  amusing  herself 
with  decorating  his  small,  grimy  toes  with 
coppers.  He  was  an  unsophisticated 
little  beggar,  and  evidently  had  no  intel 
ligent  interest  in  the  cool,  round  coins, 
which  nevertheless  tickled  his  brown  toes 
agreeably.  He  looked  up  and  smiled, 
showing  a  row  of  tiny  white  teeth,  and 
with  the  movement  all  the  coppers  slid 
off  into  the  grass. 

The   mother   had   been   watching   the 
little  scene,  and  May  had  a  comfortable 


21  Venetian 


assurance  that  that  wealth  of  soldi  would 
presently  be  restored  to  its  legitimate 
function  in  the  scheme  of  things.  She 
turned  from  her  pretty  fooling,  and  Ken- 
wick  promptly  remarked  :  '  '  Are  you 
aware  that  you  have  sown  the  seeds  of 
mendicancy  in  the  soul  of  that  innocent 
child?" 

"  Oh,  no  ;  those  were  nothing  but  cop 
pers,"  she  retorted  brightly,  "and  I  have 
sown  them  in  the  grass." 

They  had  spent  half-an-hour  at  their 
picnicking,  and  now  a  new  division  of 
the  party  was  proposed,  according  to 
which  the  four  young  people  should  row 
out  a  bit  toward  the  Porto,  leaving  the 
elders,  in  Pietro's  gondola,  to  take  the 
more  direct  way  home.  And  so  it  came 
about  that  presently  the  Colonel  found 
himself,  floating  with  the  Signora  down 
the  quiet  rio  by  which  they  had  entered 
the  vignoli.  So  elderly  was  the  aspect  of 
the  gondola  with  its  three  gray  heads  to 
one  black  one,  that  the  very  dogs  refrained 
from  barking,  and  in  the  grateful  hush, 


promotion  185 


broken  only  by  the  dip  of  the  oar,  and 
the  not  all  unmelodious  creak  of  Pietro's 
heavy  boots,  the  liquid  note  of  the  black 
bird  sounded  sweet  and  clear. 

The  reflection  crossed  the  Colonel's 
mind  that  this  was  the  first  time,  in  all 
these  weeks,  that  he  had  been  alone  with 
the  Signora.  He  wondered,  in  a  self- 
distrustful  way,  what  would  come  of  it. 
It  was  certainly  very  sweet  to  him  to  have 
her  there  beside  him,  quite  to  himself. 
He  wondered  whether  it  struck  her  that 
it  was  an  intimate,  confidential  sort  of 
situation.  He  was  sitting  a  little  for 
ward,  as  his  habit  was,  and  as  he  glanced 
under  the  awning,  at  the  pretty,  rural  bit 
of  country  that  bordered  the  canal,  it  was 
easy  to  include  her  face  in  his  survey  from 
time  to  time. 

They  chatted  for  a  while  of  this  and 
that  indifferent  topic,  but  it  was  clear  that 
they  were  both  preoccupied  and  they  soon 
fell  silent.  The  Colonel,  indeed,  was 
nervously  sensible  that  fate  was  closing 
in  about  him,  and  that  he  might,  at  any 


Venetian  Sune 


moment,  be  betrayed  into  a  false  step. 
For,  despite  his  practical,  Yankee  com 
mon  sense,  the  old  soldier  was  something 
of  a  fatalist,  and  in  the  one  most  critical 
relation  of  his  life,  he  had  always  felt 
himself  subject  to  mysterious  and  irre 
sistible  influences. 

Presently,  as  they  came  out  upon  the 
sparkling  waters  of  the  lagoon,  the  Sig- 
nora  spoke.  There  was  something  in  her 
voice  that  caused  the  Colonel  to  turn,  at 
the  first  word,  and  as  he  looked  into  her 
face,  he  pleased  himself  with  noting  a  new 
animation,  that  seemed  a  direct  reflex  of 
the  light  that  played  upon  the  waters. 
Had  he  not  long  ago  discovered  that 
mystic  kinship  ? 

"  Geof  and  I  are  very  grateful  to  you," 
she  was  saying,  "for  bringing  those 
charming  girls  of  yours  to  Venice." 

"  You  like  them  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I 
knew  you  would.  Nice  girls,  both  of 
them.  It  has  been  a  great  thing  for 
them,  having  you  here,  and  Geof.  Geof 's 
a  capital  fellow." 


B  promotion  l87 

She  turned  upon  her  companion  a  ques 
tioning,  yet  on  the  whole  a  pretty  confi 
dent  look.  ' '  Colonel  Steele, ' '  she  asked, 
"  should  you  greatly  mind  if  one  of  your 
Pollys  should  find  it  in  her  heart  to  make 
my  boy  happy?" 

"What's  that?"  the  Colonel  cried. 
"You  don't  mean?— Bless  my  soul,  I 
never  thought  of  such  a  thing  !  " 

"  It  seems  the  most  natural  thing  in 
the  world  to  me,"  she  said.  "  And  yet, 
— supposing  your  Polly  should  fail  us  !  I 
can't  expect  Geof  to  be  as  irresistible  to 
other  people  as  he  is  to  me."  She  smiled, 
as  if  she  were  half  in  jest,  yet  there  was 
real  anxiety  in  her  tone  as  she  asked  : 
"What  do  you  think  about  it,  Colonel 
Steele?" 

"  Why  ;  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know.  It 's 
something  of  a  shock, — that  sort  of  thing 
always  is,  you  know.  Young  people  do 
go  into  it  so  easily.  Of  course  Geof 's  a 
fine  fellow.  You  mean  the  little  one  ?  ' ' 

"Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Daymond  ;  for 
though  Pauline  was  far  from  little,  she 


188  B  Venetian  June 

had   not   the   height   of  her   tall  young 
sister. 

' '  Of  course,  of  course.  Well,  well  ! 
And  you  want  to  know  what  I  think 
about  it  ?  I  think  she  would  be  a  lucky 
girl.  That  would  make  her  your  daugh 
ter,  would  n't  it  ?  Why,  of  course  she  '11 
say  yes  !  Any  girl  would  be  a  fool  who 
did  n't,  and  Polly  's  no  fool.  I  only  wish 
you  had  another  son  for  the  other  one  ! ' ' 
"I'm  afraid  she  won't  take  Geof  for 
my  sake,"  Mrs.  Daymond  said,  smiling, 
half  sadly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  will ;  I  'm  sure  she  will  !  " 
cried  the  Colonel.  "  But  what  I  don't 
understand  is— Geof.  To  be  taken  with 
a  child  like  Polly,  when, — "  He  turned 
sharp  about,  and  looked  into  her  face, 
and  there  was  no  mistaking  his  meaning. 
It  was  almost  as  if  he  had  spoken  the 
words  she  had  so  often  heard  from  his 
lips. 

A  great  tenderness  and  compunction 
swept  over  the  Signora,  and  found  ex 
pression  in  her  face.  Her  beautiful  gray 


B  promotion  189 

eyes  met  the  impassioned  trouble  of  her 
old  friend's  gaze,  with  a  gentle  directness 
that  in  itself  went  far  toward  disarming 
and  tranquillizing  him. 

"I  sometimes  think,"  she  said,  "that 
perhaps  this  is  what  all  our— trouble  has 
meant,  yours  and  mine." 

There  was  something  indescribably  con 
soling  in  the  community  of  sorrow  the 
words  seemed  to  imply.  He  had  never 
thought  before,  that  his  lifelong  chagrin 
had  awakened  anything  more  than  a  mo 
mentary  regret  in  her  mind,  that  it  had 
been  a  sorrow  to  her,  as  well. 

They  were  rowing  past  the  cypresses 
of  San  Michele,  and  the  Colonel  lifted  his 
hat  and  placed  it  on  his  knees,  looking 
straight  before  him,  with  the  slightest 
possible  working  of  the  muscles  of  his 
face.  The  voice  he  was  listening  to  was 
sweet  and  low,  the  tender  cadence  of  it 
seemed  to  inform  the  words  she  used  with 
a  spirit  not  inherent  in  them. 

"I  think,"   she  was  saying,    "that  I 
should  be  perfectly  happy  if  I  could  know 


IDenetian 


that  the  long  misunderstanding  that  has 
caused  us  both  so  much  pain,  had  had  a 
meaning  as  sweet  and  acceptable  to  you 
as  it  would  be  to  me." 

The  Colonel  pulled  out  his  pocket- 
handkerchief  and  wiped  his  forehead, 
surreptitiously  including  his  eyes  in  the 
process. 

"I've  been  a  brute,"  he  muttered,  in 
rather  a  husky  voice,  scowling  savagely 
into  the  crown  of  his  hat,  which  he  had 
lifted  from  his  knees.  As  if  displeased 
with  its  appearance,  he  put  it  on  his 
head,  where  he  planted  it  firmly. 

She  knew  that  she  had  all  but  won  the 
day,  and  she  ventured  what  she  had  not 
ventured  before.  For  it  had  never  been 
her  way  to  prate  of  an  impossible  friend 
ship  ;  if  she  used  the  word  she  meant  to 
honor  it.  And  to-day  something-  told 
her  that  at  last  she  held  control  of  the 
situation. 

There  was  nothing  in  her  voice  to  be 
tray  the  intense  exertion  of  will  that  she 
was  conscious  of  making;  on  the  con- 


B  ipromotlon  191 

trary,    her   words   sounded   only  wistful 
and  entreating,  as  she  said  : 

"What  friends  we  should  be  !  " 

And  because  it  was  the  first  time  she 
had  made  that  appeal  to  him,  and  because 
these  weeks  of  pleasant,  normal  compan 
ionship  had  subtly  and  surely  changed 
their  relation,  the  Colonel  could  meet  her 
half-way,  like  the  gallant  fellow  he  was. 

"What  friends  we  shall  be  !  "  he  cried, 
clasping  the  hand  which  she  had  invol 
untarily  lifted.  "And  we  won't  let  it 
depend  upon  those  youngsters,  either  !  ' ' 

The  gondola  had  entered  one  of  the 
canals  of  the  city,  and  presently  they 
passed  under  a  bridge  and  came  out  in 
front  of  the  square  of  San  Paolo  and  San 
Giovanni,  where  the  superb  statue  of 
Coleoni  on  his  magnificent  charger  standi 
clear-cut  against  the  sky. 

"Glorious  thing,  that,"  the  Colonel 
remarked,  as  he  invariably  did,  as  often 
as  his  eye  fell  upon  it. 

"Yes,"  she  replied;  "It  is  the  very 
apotheosis  of  success.  And  yet, — one 


Venetian  $une 


sometimes  questions  whether  a.  perfectly 
successful  man  is  as  enviable  as  he 
seems.  What  do  you  think  about  it, 
Colonel?" 

"Signora,"  the  Colonel  answered, 
with  a  flash  of  feeling  in  his  rugged  feat 
ures  that  would  have  done  credit  to 
Vittorio's  expressive  face,  "  I  have  had 
my  promotion,  and  I  envy  no  man  !  " 


$1Pflir.  Illuminations. 

Geoffry  Daymond 
had  known  no  more 
about  Nanni  than  was 
known  to  May  herself,  the 
little  incident  which  had 
caused  such  perturbation 
in  the  young  girl's  mind 
would  not  have  made  any  special  impres 
sion  upon  him.  The  scene  itself,  indeed, 
might  have  lingered  in  his  mind  as  one  of 
those  charming  surprises  that  lurk  in  the 
enchanted  atmosphere  of  the  lagoons. 
The  striking  beauty  of  Nanni's  counten 
ance  is  the  possession  of  many  an  honest 
gondolier,  nor  would  the  glow  of  feeling 
which  animated  the  face,  have  been  any 
thing  unprecedented  in  a  man  of  his  class. 
Old  Pietro  himself,  slumbering  at  that 
13  193 


i94  B  Venetian  3-une 


moment  on  the  floor  of  his  gondola,  often 
exhibited  a  startling  power  of  facial 
expression,  which  fairly  transfigured  his 
weather-worn  features.  No,  in  a  simple 
gondolier,  both  beauty  of  face  and  bril 
liancy  and  depth  of  expression  are  quite 
in  the  natural  order.  And  if  it  is  not 
often  that  one  sees  these  advantages 
heightened  by  so  admirable  a  foil  as  was 
provided  on  this  occasion,  it  is  simply 
because  such  vivid  grace  of  the  contrast 
ing  type  is  rare. 

Geoffry's  first  sensation  then,  as  he 
caught  sight  of  the  two  figures,  was  one 
of  gratification  to  his  artistic  sense  ;  and 
even  when  May  extended  her  hand,  and 
Nanni,  after  the  custom  of  the  gondolier, 
raised  it  to  his  lips,  it  did  not  at  once 
strike  the  young  man  as  other  than  nat 
ural  and  fitting.  In  an  instant,  however, 
he  recalled  the  fact,  which  he  had  learned 
of  Pietro  a  month  previous,  that  this  was 
no  mere  gondolier,  but  a  man  of  educa 
tion  and  consequence  in  the  world ;  a 
circumstance  which,  undeniably,  put  a 


fllluminatfcms  195 


different  face  upon  the  matter.  It  ac 
counted  too,  perhaps,  for  the  curiously 
appealing  impression  of  the  man's  per 
sonality.  There  was  undoubtedly  some 
thing  pathetic  in  this  son  of  a  line  of 
gondoliers,  reaching  back  farther  than 
many  a  titled  family,  this  man  with  an 
innate  love  for  the  craft,  a  genuine  pas 
sion  for  the  lagoons,  placed  in  the  artifi 
cial  environment  of  modern  society, 
constrained  to  deal  with  the  hard-and- 
fast  exactions  of  modern  science.  No 
wonder  that  there  was  that  about  him 
that  excited  the  imagination.  Geof  had 
himself  felt  it  ;  his  mother  had  spoken 
of  it.  Who  could  know  how  powerful 
the  appeal  might  be  to  one  who  had  not 
the  key  to  the  puzzle  ? 

When,  therefore,  Geof  came  upon  the 
little  drama  being  enacted  among  the 
alders  at  Torcello,  with  a  grace  and  fer 
vor  which  was  for  an  instant,  but  only 
for  an  instant  captivating,  he  experienced 
a  feeling  of  vague  dissatisfaction,  which 
was  much  accentuated  by  the  sight  of  the 


Venetian  3-une 


young  girl's  evident  emotion,  as  she 
turned  and  faced  him  unexpectedly. 

He  did  a  good  deal  of  pondering  in 
the  course  of  that  day  and  the  next,  and, 
as  he  was  quite  unable  to  justify,  or  even 
to  formulate  his  anxieties,  he  wished 
that  he  might  at  least  find  out  whether 
the  truth  in  regard  to  the  gondolier  were 
known  to  May.  That  might  throw  some 
light  upon  the  subject. 

He  was  aware,  to  be  sure,  of  the  Colo 
nel's  studied  secrecy  in  the  matter,  but 
secrets  are  ticklish  things  at  the  best, 
and  no  stray  hint  was  likely  to  have  been 
lost  upon  a  girl  of  May's  intelligence. 
He  had  a  notion  that,  if  he  could  get  a 
word  with  Nanni  himself,  it  would  be 
easy  to  sound  him  on  the  point  ;  a  delu 
sion  that  was  destined  to  be  early  dissi 
pated. 

On  the  second  morning  following  the 
Torcello  trip,  Geof  was  swimming  in  the 
Adriatic,  far  out  beyond  the  line  of 
bathers,  shouting  and  splashing  in  the 
shallows.  There,  under  a  dazzling  sky, 


fl  Humiliations 


with  a  strong  wind  blowing,  and  white- 
caps  careering  about,  he  came  face  to  face 
with  the  subject  of  his  speculations. 
The  incongruity  of  catechizing  a  man  of 
his  countenance  was  instantly  apparent. 

"  Buon  giorno,  Signorc"  said  Nanni, 
and  Daymond  found  himself  returning 
the  salutation  with  a  courtesy  that  was 
little  short  of  deferential.  The  two  men 
had  met  upon  a  common  footing, — if  the 
watery  deep  may  be  said  to  furnish  one, 
—and  Geof  had  found  himself  at  a  disad 
vantage. 

The  incident  did  not  altogether  allay 
his  friendly  solicitude  ;  on  the  contrary, 
he  was  abashed  and  confounded  at  this 
evidence  of  the  power  of  the  Italian's 
personality  ;  and  yet,  he  was  more  defi 
nitely  conscious  than  he  had  hitherto 
been,  of  a  certain  racial  nobility  in  the 
man  which  commanded  confidence. 

The  wind,  that  had  been  a  sportive,  if 
somewhat  riotous  breeze  in  the  morning, 
gained  in  force  as  the  day  went  on. 
There  W7ere  few  gondolas  out  in  the  after- 


198  B  Venetian  3une 


noon,  and  Geof  went  about  on  foot.  He 
walked  the  length  of  the  wind-swept 
Riva  degli  Schiavoni,  and  then  he  struck 
across  the  city,  by  narrow  alleys  and 
picturesque,  out-of-the-way  squares,  and 
looked  in  at  certain  churches  for  which 
the  guide-books  recommend  the  after 
noon  light.  Toward  the  end  of  the  day 
he  found  his  way  back  to  the  Piazza. 

The  great  square  was  in  holiday  guise, 
in  honor  of  some  guest  of  the  city. 
From  the  three  famous  flag-staffs  in  front 
of  San  Marco  the  colors  of  Italy  were 
floating,  rolling  and  unrolling  upon  the 
breeze,  in  gracefully  undulating  folds. 
Men  were  affixing  additional  gas-jets  to 
the  great  candelabra,  making  ready  for 
the  evening  illumination. 

Just  as  Geof  arrived  upon  the  scene,  a 
boy,  with  a  paper  of  corn  in  each  out 
stretched  hand,  came  running  down  the 
length  of  the  Piazza,  followed  by  a  flutter 
ing  swarm  of  pigeons,  hundreds  of  them 
on  the  wing,  in  hot  pursuit  of  the  flying 
provender.  The  wings  made  a  sound  of 


Illuminations  199 

multitudinous  flapping  that  was  singu 
larly  agreeable  to  the  ear.  Geof  watched 
their  laughing  tormenter  until  he  stopped 
for  breath  near  the  base  of  the  campanile, 
and,  in  an  instant,  the  pigeons  were 
alighting  on  his  arms  and  shoulders,  and 
gathering  in  an  eager,  gurgling  mass 
about  his  feet.  The  corn  fell  in  a  golden 
shower  among  them,  and  great  was  the 
jostling  and  gobbling  and  short  was  the 
duration  of  that  golden  shower. 

Geof  turned  in  at  the  open  door  of  San 
Marco,  and  found  his  way  to  one  of  his 
favorite  haunts,  a  certain  dimly  sump 
tuous  side-chapel,  where  a  hint  of  incense 
always  hovers,  and  a  whispered  echo,  as 
of  long-past  avcs  and  salves,  lingers  on  the 
air.  Curious  carvings  are  there,  and  bits 
of  gleaming  gold  and  silver,  and,  between 
the  pillars,  enchanting  vistas  open  out 
into  the  transept,  or  down  the  mosaic- 
laid  floor  of  the  nave,  polished  smooth 
by  the  feet  of  generations  of  worshippers. 

As  he  tarried  there,  the  familiar  sense 
of  passive  content  which  he  had  had  of 


200  B  Venetian  Suite 


late  stole  upon  him,  and  he  was  aware 
that  a  certain  face  and  voice  were  again 
present  with  him.  Why,  he  wondered, 
since  it  was  of  other  things  he  had  been 
thinking  all  day  long,— why  did  that 
face  and  voice  come  to  him?  Was  it 
merely  a  habit  of  mind,  a  trick  of  thought 
engendered  by  this  idle,  aimless  Venetian 
life?  Or  was  it  a  natural  association  of 
pure  and  lovely  impressions  ? 

And  there,  in  the  rich  gloom  of  the 
great  basilica,  traced  out  and  accentu 
ated,  as  it  were,  by  long  bars  of  light 
that  made  a  golden  pathway  down  from 
the  high  western  windows,  a  light  en 
tered  into  his  mind,  and  he  knew  what 
his  mother  had  divined  long  ago. 

There  was  no  shock  of  surprise  in  the 
discovery,  only  a  deep,  vitalizing  satis 
faction.  It  seemed  as  natural,  as  inevi 
table,  that  he  should  love  Pauline  Beverly, 
as  that  he  should  love  his  life.  He  knew 
that  he  had  loved  her  from  the  hour  of 
their  first  meeting  ;  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  had  loved  her  all  his  life.  He  was 


Illuminations  201 


glad  that  the  realization  of  it  had  come  to 
him  here  in  the  beautiful  church  where 
he  had  first  seen  her  face.  Yet,  as  he 
stood  looking  down  the  marvellous  per 
spectives  of  the  great  sanctuary,  only 
dimly  seen  in  the  veiled  and  brooding 
light,  he  felt  that  the  time  was  past  for 
idle  musings,  that  it  behooved  him  to  be 
stir  himself,  to  get  out  into  the  daylight 
and  begin  to  live. 

He  walked  down  the  nave,  and  out 
into  the  gay  Piazza,  where  he  was  not 
surprised  to  find  that  the  aspect  of  things 
had  changed.  The  flags  were  still  rising 
and  falling  011  the  breeze,  unfolding  their 
radiant  colors  to  the  declining  sun  ;  the 
deep- throated  bell  of  the  campanile,  which 
has  sounded  so  many  a  summons  to  great 
deeds,  was  solemnly  tolling  the  hour  ;  a 
Franciscan  brother  stepped  across  the 
pavement,  bent  doubtless  upon  an  errand 
of  mercy.  The  young  man  read  a  new 
suggestion  in  each  of  these  familiar  sights 
and  sounds.  He  turned  and  looked  back 
at  San  Marco,  at  the  outline  of  its  cluster- 


202  B  Venetian  5une 

ing  domes,  at  its  carvings  and  mosaics, 
gleaming  in  full  sunshine.  In  his  ex 
alted  frame  of  mind,  all  these  things 
seemed  translated  into  large  and  sig 
nificant  meanings  ;  patriotism,  philan 
thropy,  art, — his  own  art,  architecture. 
He  wondered  what  fine  thing  it  would 
be  vouchsafed  him  to  do,  to  win  the  girl 
he  loved. 

Geoffry  Daymond  was  by  nature  mod 
est  ;  the  accident  of  worldly  prosperity, 
of  personal  success,  had  not  changed  that  ; 
but  he  was  equally  by  nature  determined. 
Though  he  felt  that  something  very  tre 
mendous  would  be  required  of  him  before 
he  could  enter  into  his  kingdom,  he  never 
for  an  instant  doubted  that  he  should  win. 
And  so  it  happened,  that,  as  he  walked 
away  across  the  Piazza,  his  step  rang 
firmer  and  sharper  than  ever,  and  he  held 
his  head  with  the  air  of  a  man  not  easily 
daunted. 

The  wind  did  not  go  down  with  the 
sun,  and,  when  evening  came,  Geof  felt 
pretty  sure  that  he  should  find  Pauline 


illuminations  203 


in  the  Piazza.  Accordingly,  he  went 
there  in  search  of  her  ;  yet  when  he  came 
upon  her,  sitting  with  May  and  the  Colo 
nel  at  a  little  round  table  in  front  of  Flo- 
rian's,  he  found  very  little  to  say  for 
himself,  in  response  to  her  friendly  greet 
ing.  He  joined  them  at  their  after-din 
ner  coffee,  but  he  said  he  had  had  his 
smoke,  and  when,  presently,  May  ex 
pressed  a  laudable  desire  to  go  and  see 
what  the  moon  was  about,  he  could  do  no 
less  than  offer  to  escort  her. 

"  Won't  you  come,  Miss  Beverly  ?  "  he 
asked,  but  there  was  a  constraint  in  his 
tone,  which  to  Pauline's  mind  could  have 
but  one  interpretation. 

"  Thank  you,  no  ;  "  she  said.  "  I  will 
keep  Uncle  Dan  company.  We  have  not 
finished  our  coffee  yet." 

As  they  walked  away,  Uncle  Dan 
looked  after  the  two  comely  figures,  with 
a  newly  acquired  intelligence  of  observa 
tion.  Presently  he  coughed,  discreetly, 
and  asked,  with  a  great  effort  at  being 
merely  conversational :  "  Did  it  ever 


204  B  Venetian  3une 


strike  you,  Polly,  that  young  Daymond 
was  getting— er — attentive  ?  " 

Pauline,  too,  had  followed  them  with  a 
look  of  affectionate  good- will,  which  deep 
ened  to  a  very  sweet  and  wistful  smile,  as 
she  answered  :  "  Yes,  Uncle  Dan  ;  I  think 
he  likes  May.  How  could  he  help  it  ?  " 

"Now  that's  odd,"  the  Colonel  ex 
claimed;  "Do  you  know,  I  had  never 
thought  of  such  a  thing.  It  was  the  Sig- 
nora  that  put  it  into  my  head." 

"  And  you  are  glad,  are  you  not,  Uncle 
Dan  ?  You  would  like  to  have  it  hap 
pen  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes,  }^es  ;  of  course, — for  his  mother's 
sake." 

Pauline  was  still  watching  May  and 
her  companion.  They  had  walked  on, 
easily  distinguishable  in  the  crowd  by 
reason  of  their  height,  and  now  they  were 
standing  a  little  apart,  near  the  base  of 
the  campanile,  in  the  full  light  of  the  illu 
mination.  May  was  talking,  her  skirts 
and  ribbons  fluttering  in  the  breeze. 
Geof  stood  beside  her  listening,  his  head 


Illuminations  205 

bent  slightly,  with  a  certain  chivalry  of 
bearing  which  was  characteristic  of  him. 
The  wind  made  no  more  impression  upon 
his  firm,  close-reefed  figure,  than  upon 
the  mighty  shaft  of  the  great  bell-tower. 
"I  wish  it  for  his  own  sake,  Uncle 
Dan,"  Pauline  said.  "I  do  not  know 
any  one  I  should  be  more  willing  to 

trust." 

"You  don't  say  so  !  Well,  he's  his 
mother's  son,  and  that  is  half  the  battle." 

"Yes,"  Pauline  admitted;  "that  is 
the  way  I  felt  too,  at  first.  But  now  I 
know  him  better  it  is  for  himself  I  like 
him.  He  is  so  strong,  and  steady,  and 
— good  evening,  Mr.  Kenwick." 

"  Ah,  good  evening  !  I  was  sure  that 
unless  you  had  blown  away  in  the  course 
of  the  day,  I  should  find  you  in  these 
classic  precincts.  No,  thanks  ;  I  've  had 
my  coffee,  or  something  answering  re 
motely  to  that  description.  What  has 
become  of  your  sister,  Miss  Beverly? 
She  is  getting  as  chary  of  herself  as  an 
Italian  pronoun." 


206  B  Venetian  $une 


"  She  was  here  a  moment  ago,"  Pau 
line  replied;  "she  has  gone  with  Mr. 
Daymond  to  pay  her  respects  to  the 
moon." 

"Really,"  said  Kenwick,  with  a  hint 
of  annoyance  in  his  manner,  to  conceal 
which  he  continued  talking  volubly. 
' '  Now  I  should  have  thought  you  would 
have  been  the  one  to  go  moon-gazing. 
I  should  not  have  associated  your  sister 
with  the  pale  and  melancholy  orb." 

"You  are  very  penetrating,  Mr.  Ken- 
wick.  But  I  don't  think  you  would  find 
the  moon  especially  pale  or  melancholy 
this  evening.  It  seemed  in  high  good 
humor  as  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  it  on 
our  way  over  here." 

"Mr.  Ken  wick's  penetration  is  too 
subtle  for  a  plain  man's  comprehension," 
Uncle  Dan  observed.  The  persistency 
with  which  the  Colonel  bemistered  Ken- 
wick  was  an  unmistakable  sign  of  disap 
proval. 

"  Colonel  Steele,  I  am  guiltless  of 
subtlety,"  Kenwick  declared  in  his  most 


Illuminations  207 

humorous  manner;  "  I,  too,  am  a  plain 
man.  But,  if  you  will  pardon  the  plati 
tude,  we  all  know  that  there  is  one  beauty 
of  the  sun,  and  another  beauty  of  the 
moon,  and  it  would  be  pure  affectation 
to  ignore  the  fact." 

"Apropos  of  the  heavenly  bodies,— 
when  is  the  Urania  to  sail?"  Pauline 
asked.  She  feared  that  Kenwick  might 
go  in  pursuit  of  Geof  and  May,  who  had 
disappeared  round  the  corner  into  the 
Piazzetta,  and  knowing  that  he  liked  to 
talk  of  his  millionaire  friends  and  their 
steam-yacht,  she  proceeded  to  draw  him 
out  upon  the  subject. 

May  and  Geof,  meanwhile,  secure  from 
interruption,  thanks  to  Pauline's  little 
strategy,  were  strolling  in  the  Piazzetta, 
now  facing  the  moon-lit,  wind-swept 
lagoon,  glittering  beyond  the  pillars  in  a 
thousand  broken  reflections  ;  now  study 
ing  the  figures  of  the  four  porphyry  con 
spirators,  engaged  in  their  eternal  task 
of  mystification  at  the  corner  of  San 
Marco.  That  all  attempts  should  have 


208  B  tDenetian  June 

failed  to  settle  the  character  and  so 
cial  standing  of  those  red-complexioned, 
rather  dull-witted  gentlemen,  who  clasped 
one  another  in  such  undecipherable  opac 
ity,  was  almost  more  than  May  could 
bear. 

''Don't  you  think  the  archaeologists 
are  rather  stupid  to  have  given  up  the 
riddle?"  she  asked,  as  she  and  her  es 
cort  turned  away  and  stepped  out  again 
into  the  Piazza. 

"I  dare  say  they  are,"  Geof  laughed, 
"but  I  'm  sure  that  those  flat-nosed  fel 
lows  are  much  more  entertaining  than 
they  would  be  if  they  had  been  labelled. 
Jove!  What  a  sight  that  is  !" 

He  had  suddenly  turned  and  looked  up 
at  the  front  of  San  Marco,  gleaming  in 
the  brilliant  illumination,  like  a  shrine 
studded  with  precious  stones.  In  the 
concentrated  light  of  hundreds  of  gas- 
jets,  each  exquisite  detail,  each  shining 
gold  mosaic  and  lavish  carving  stood  out 
with  marvellous  distinctness.  The  gol 
den-winged  angels  that  mount  a  mystic 


Illuminations  209 


stairway  above  the  great  central  arch, 
the  bronze  horses  prancing  so  harmlessly 
over  the  main  portal,  even  the  quaint 
bas-relief  of  St.  George,  sitting,  with 
such  unimpeachable  dignity,  upon  his 
camp-stool, — each  and  all  were  far  more 
clearly  enunciated  than  ever  they  are 
in  the  impartial  splendor  of  daylight. 
Against  the  darkly  luminous,  unfathom 
able  sky,  the  outline  of  the  domes  showed 
clear-cut  and  harmonious,  and  over  yon 
der,  above  the  great  Palazzo,  whose  col 
umns,  for  that  evening  at  least,  were 
surely  carved  in  ivory  and  wrought  with 
lace,  a  remote,  half-grown  moon  looked 
wonderingly  down. 

"  The  moon  is  rather  out  of  it,  to 
night,"  May  observed,  with  the  bright 
crispness  that  gave  everything  she  said  a 
flavor  of  originality.  She  had  taken  in 
the  beauty  of  the  scene  with  a  complete 
ness  that  would  have  astonished  her  com 
panion  ;  not  a  detail  had  been  lost  upon 
her.  Yet  it  was  clear  that  the  total  effect 
had  not  produced  an  overpowering  im- 


210  B  Denetian  5une 


pression.  Geof,  for  his  part,  had  been 
really  stirred  by  it,  but  he  had  no  inten 
tion  of  owning  it. 

"  I  don't  think  we  need  waste  any  sym 
pathy  on  the  moon,"  he  replied.  "It's 
usually  cock  of  the  walk  here  in  Venice." 

Having  thus  satisfactorily  disposed  of 
that  subject,  the  young  people  turned 
their  steps  toward  the  clock-tower,  Geof 
wondering  resignedly,  why  May  made 
no  motion  to  rejoin  her  family. 

"  I  don't  think  I  agree  with  you  about 
mysteries,"  she  said,  presently  ;  "  I  can't 
bear  them.  There  's  Nanni,  now,  the 
brother  of  our  gondolier,"  she  continued  ; 
and  then,  turning,  and  looking  her  com 
panion  full  in  the  face  :  "  Can  you  make 
him  out  ?  " 

"What  is  it  about  him  that  puzzles 
you  ?  "  Geof  asked,  returning  her  glance 
with  equal  frankness. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  can  explain  it. 
He  seems  somehow — different.  There  is 
something  wrong  about  him.  I  don't 
think  he  is  happy." 


Illuminations  211 


"  And  what  if  he  is  not  ?  "  said  Geof 
tentatively.  "  There  need  be  no  mystery 
about  that.  I  don't  suppose  many  men 
are  really  happy." 

"You  don't?"  May  exclaimed,  in 
naive  surprise. 

Geof,  to  whom  happiness  had  come 
to  seem  almost  incredible,  since  he  had 
got  a  glimpse  of  what  it  might  be,  was 
himself  rather  taken  aback  at  his  own 
utterance. 

"  I  rather  think,"  he  said,  laughing 
uneasily  ;  ' '  that  I  only  meant  that  not 
many  people  are  superlatively  happy. 
As  for  commonplace,  every-day  happi 
ness,  I  suppose  that  depends  upon 
temperament.  Perhaps  the  man  is  of  a 
melancholy  temperament." 

"Perhaps  that  is  it,"  May  answered, 
thoughtfully  ;  and  with  one  accord  they 
turned  into  the  quiet  paved  space  north 
of  San  Marco,  where  they  stood,  a  few 
moments,  looking  out  into  the  brilliant 
Piazza. 

' '  I  suppose  it  was  very  silly  of  me, ' ' 


212  B  Venetian  5une 


M.ay  went  on,  laying  her  hand  upon  the 
haunches  of  a  great  stone  lion  that 
crouches  there,  polished  smooth  with  the 
passage  of  centuries  ;  "  but  I  had  a  notion 
that  he  was  unhappy  because  he  had  to  live 
in  exile,  a  mere  servant,  you  know,  in  a 
dreadful  hospital  in  Milan.  And  so  I  went 
and  offered  to  give  him  a  gondola,  and  he 
would  n't  accept  it.  He  was  thanking 
me  the  other  day,  at  Torcello,  when  you 
came  up.  I  suppose  that  was  why  he 
was  so — melodramatic,"  and  she  laughed 
a  little  forced  laugh,  and  looked  Geoffry 
straight  in  the  face  again. 

He  saw  her  embarrassment,  and  under 
stood  that  she  had  been  setting  him 
right,  and  that  it  had  cost  her  an  effort 
to  refer  to  the  matter.  And  so  he  said 
the  kindest  thing  possible  under  the  cir 
cumstances. 

"  If  you  mean  his  kissing  your  hand," 
he  replied,  with  an  air  of  discussing  a 
matter  of  no  consequence,  "there  's  noth 
ing  melodramatic  in  that,  at  least  when 
a  gondolier  does  it.  It  is  the  custom  of 


Illuminations  213 


their  class.  Old  Pietro  kisses  mine  and 
makes  me  feel  like  an  ancient  doge." 

He  could  see  that  she  was  relieved. 

"  I  wonder  where  the  others  are,"  she 
said.  ''Let  us  go  and  look  them  up. 
I  did  n't  feel  like  anything  so  fine  as  a 
doge,"  she  added,  lightly,  as  they  came 
out  into  the  square  again.  "  I  felt  like 
a  very  interfering  and  foolish  kind  of  per 
son.  I  don't  think  I  shall  do  anything 
so  silly  again." 

"  There  is  nothing  silly  about  a  gener 
ous  action,"  Geof  protested,  looking  with 
great  kindness  at  the  young  girl,  to  whom 
the  garment  of  humility  was  not  unbe 
coming.  "I  rather  think,  though,  that 
the  man  is  better  off  than  you  imagine. 
At  any  rate,  I  'm  very  sure  he  is  better 
off  for  the  good  will  you  have  shown  him . " 

Then,  with  a  return  of  his  previous 
solicitude,  somewhat  stimulated  by  a  new 
realization  of  the  unusual  beauty  of  this 
experimenter  in  mysteries,  he  added  : 
"These  Italians  are  impressionable  fel 
lows.  They  sometimes  feel  things  more 


214  B  Venetian  3-une 


than  we  cold-blooded  Northerners  appre 
ciate." 

"Do  they?"  said  May,  in  her  most 
matter-of-fact  voice,  giving  Geof  a  glance 
of  quick  intelligence,  and  putting  herself 
instantly  on  the  defensive;  "I  should 
have  said  it  was  rather  touch  and  go  with 
their  feelings.  Ah  !  There  's  Mr.  Ken- 
wick,  pretending  he  does  n't  see  us  !  " 


£U\D.  B 
mct's 


been 

quite    correct 
in  her  surmise 
that   Kenwick 
w  as    s  h  a  m  - 
ming,   though 
this  was  merely 
based  on  general 
theories.    Not  only 
did  he  see  her  as  she 
emerged  with  Geoffry  Daymond  from  the 
comparative  obscurity  of  the  stone  lion's 
neighborhood,  but  he  had  been  for  some 
moments  furtively  watching  them  both, 
himself  lost  to  view  in  the  crowd  about 
the  band-stand.     She  would   have  been 
surprised  indeed  if  she  could  have  guessed 
the  effect  upon  the  sprightly  cavalier  of 
this  new  evidence  of  the  confidential  re 
lations  existing  between  herself  and  his 
friend  ;  and  indeed,  when  a  moment  later 
he  met  them,  with  a  facetious  sally,  it  is 
doubtful  whether  anythin 
215 


g  short  of  clair- 


216  B  iDenetian 

voyance  could  have  divined  his  true  state 
of  mind. 

For  Oliver  Kenwick  was  experiencing 
something  as  closely  resembling  genuine 
feeling  as  was  like  to  befall  him  in  the 
course  of  his  discreetly  regulated  career. 
He  had  played  with  fire  once  too  often, 
and  he  had  discovered,  not  without  a 
slight  accession  of  self-respect,  that  he 
was  perceptibly  scorched.  He  had  sup 
posed  his  interest  in  May  Beverly  to 
be  purely  impersonal  ;  he  had  been 
mistaken.  He  had  admired  her  in  his 
character  of  connoisseur,  as  a  man  of 
the  world  he  had  found  amusement 
and  relaxation  in  her  society.  For  May 
had  the  unique  advantage  of  combining 
that  degree  of  conventionality  which  is 
admissibly  essential,  with  a  refreshing 
lack  of  conventionality  in  non-essentials. 
She  had  repeatedly  surprised  and  stimu 
lated  him,  she  had  never  yet  offended 
his  taste.  And  Kenwick  was  nothing 
if  not  fastidious.  Her  attraction  had 
been  undeniably  heightened  by  his  imag- 


B  Summer's  5>a£  217 

ined  discovery  of  Geoffry  Daymond's 
interest  in  her  ;  but  quite  independently 
of  that  artificial  stimulous,  she  did  exer 
cise  a  strong  fascination  over  him. 

It  was  not  in  Oliver  Kenwick's  scheme 
of  life  to  sacrifice  his  independence  to 
a ny  claim,  even  to  that  of  his  own  un- 
chastened  fancies.  He  would  not  have 
known  himself  in  any  other  role  than 
that  of  free-lance,  and  life  would  indeed 
have  lost  its  savor  if  he  had  been  be 
trayed  into  the  purchase  of  an  indulgence 
of  feeling  at  the  cost  of  his  self-approval. 
He  possessed  an  ideal  of  himself  which 
he  prized  and  guarded  ;  if  the  ideal  was 
a  questionable  one,  judged  by  ordinary 
standards,  he  was  at  least  consistent  in 
its  cultivation.  If,  impelled  by  a  spirit  of 
rivalry,  if,  goaded  to  something  approach 
ing  rashness  by  the  contemplation  of 
Geof 's  quiet,  masterful  way  of  taking  pos 
session  of  the  things  he  coveted,  he  resolved 
to  retaliate  where  retaliation  was  pecu 
liarly  palatable,  this  indicated  no  change 
whatever  in  his  ultimate  intentions. 


2i3  B  Venetian  5une 

For  a  day  or  two  after  the  little  episode 
of  the  stone  lion  Kenwick  succeeded  in 
cutting  Geof  out,  as  he  termed  it,  very 
neatly,  by  the  simple  device  of  interest 
ing  May  in  a  certain  sketch  which  she 
undertook  at  his  suggestion.  The  sub 
ject  was  a  common  enough  one  in  Ven 
ice  ;  a  tranquil  rio  between  ruinous  walls, 
— here  a  bit  of  quaint  mediaeval  sculp 
ture, — there  a  splash  of  verdure  over  the 
arch  of  a  gateway, — a  pointed  church- 
tower  in  remote  perspective.  The  clever 
craftsman  found  no  difficulty  in  invent 
ing  reasons  why  a  similiar  combination 
of  advantages  was  not  to  be  found  else 
where.  In  his  own  mind  he  was  perfectly 
well  aware  that  he  chose  it  because  the 
proper  point  of  view  was  only  to  be 
obtained  by  disembarking  and  planting 
the  easels  on  a  bit  of  quay  that  stopped 
abruptly  in  front  of  a  deserted  house. 
Here,  in  this  isolated  position,  the  two 
painted  together  for  three  successive 
afternoons,  and  Kenwick,  by  dint  of  a 
judicious  combination  of  encouragement 


B  Summer's  2>a£  219 


and  criticism,  which  he,  as  a  practiced 
artist  had  always  at  command,  succeeded 
in  arousing  in  the  young  girl  an  enthu 
siasm  for  the  work,  and  an  appreciation 
of  his  own  mastery  of  his  craft,  which 
could  not  but  be  gratifying  and  stimulat 
ing  to  him.  In  truth  she  had  never  liked 
him  so  well,  and,  having  on  her  part  noth 
ing  to  conceal,  she  was  as  outspoken  in 
her  gratitude  as  in  all  things  else. 

At  the  end  of 'the  third  afternoon  May 
had  completed  the  best  sketch  she  had 
ever  done.  Just  as  she  was  putting  the 
finishing  stroke  to  it,  a  gondola  went 
gliding  by,  an  old  and  shabby  one,  and 
in  the  tall  figure  at  the  stern  she  recog 
nized  Nanni.  An  indefinable  shadow 
crept  over  the  bright  elation  of  a  moment 
previous,  and  she  stopped  painting. 

"That  old  tub  of  your  Nanni's  is 
about  ready  for  the  crematory,"  Ken- 
wick  observed,  as  he  too  began  putting 
up  his  traps. 

"The  crematory?"  she  repeated,  ab 
sently; 


220  n  Venetian  Sune 


"Yes;  when  they  are  fairly  on  their 
last  legs  the  gondolas  are  burnt  in  the 
glass-factories." 

May  watched  the  water-logged  craft  as 
it  vanished  under  a  distant  bridge. 

"  I  like  that  idea  about  the  gondolas," 
she  remarked,  a  few  minutes  later,  as 
Pauline  and  Uncle  Dan,  who  had  been 
taking  a  turn  in  the  Giudecca,  came  to 
pick  them  up.  "The  poor  old  things 
must  be  glad  to  breathe  their  dying  breath 
into  those  exquisite  flasks  and  vases." 

:<  What 's  that  about  dying  breaths  ?  " 
Uncle  Dan  demanded,  as  he  handed  his 
niece  into  the  gondola.  "Yes;  it  is  a 
happy  fate  to  die  in  a  good  cause,"  he 
admitted,  when  the  matter  was  explained 
to  him, — and  he  wondered  whether  it 
could  possibly  be  Kenwick  who  had  put 
the  child  in  a  sentimental  mood. 

"But  a  happier  fate  to  serve  a  good 
cause  and  live,"  Kenwick  maintained; 
adding,  lightly:  "Miss  May  tells  me  I 
have  taught  her  something,  and  I  desire 
to  live  long  to  remember  it." 


Summer's  2>ag 


"You  probably  will, "  the  Colonel  re 
joined,  curtly. 

"  You  were  wishing  the  other  day  for  a 
short  life  and  a  merry  one,"  Pauline  ob 
served,  as  the  Colonel  turned  to  speak  to 
Vittorio. 

"Perhaps  things  have  changed  since 
then,"  Kenwick  replied,  in  a  low  voice, 
with  so  much  seriousness  and  significance 
that  May  gave  him  a  quick,  amused  look, 
while  Pauline  experienced  an  unreason 
able  resentment.  What  business  had  a 
stranger  like  Kenwick  to  be  talking  to 
them  in  riddles? 

And  yet,  the  next  day,  when  the  whole 
party  took  the  trip  by  steamer,  the  long 
length  of  the  lagoon  to  Chioggia,  Pauline 
was  shocked  to  find  herself  almost  re 
signed  to  the  pretensions  of  the  stranger 
as  exhibited  toward  May. 

The  morning  was  a  glorious  one,  cooler 
and  clearer  than  the  usual  Venice  June. 
Across  the  lagoon  to  the  west,  the  Enga- 
nean  hills  stood  out,  sharp-cut  in  their 
pointed  outlines  as  if  carved  in  stone, — as 


222  B  Denetian  5une 


indeed  they  doubtless  are, — while  to  the 
northward,  looking  back  across  the  domes 
and  spires  of  the  receding  city,  could  be 
seen  the  distant  snow-capped  range  of  the 
Tyrolese  Alps,  so  gracious  in  its  undula 
ting  curves,  as  to  make  an  impression 
almost  of  warmth  and  tenderness. 

From  the  start,  Kenwick  had  succeeded 
in  engaging  May's  attention,  having  re 
sort  to  the  same  means  which  had  already 
proved  efficacious.  At  his  suggestion 
they  had  each  brought  a  sketch  book,  and, 
during  the  trip  of  several  hours,  they 
jotted  down  desultory  notes  of  the  pass 
ing  scene.  Here  a  boat  laden  with  mar 
ket  produce,  its  gay,  striped  sail  bulging 
to  the  breeze  ;  there,  the  towers  of  Mala- 
mocco  and  Poveglia,  with  the  pretty  vista 
of  the  channel  between.  Again  a  rude 
shrine,  erected  on  piles,  or  a  group  of 
boys  diving  off  a  tumble-down  wharf  in 
the  distance.  It  was  very  delightful, 
this  monopoly  of  the  young  girl's  at 
tention.  The  eager  interest  with  which 
she  listened  to  his  suggestions,  the  quick 


a  Summer's  2>as  223 

intelligence  with  which  she  acted  upon 
them. 

And  Pauline,  sitting  with  Geof  a  little 
apart  from  the  others,  tried  in  vain  to 
take  herself  to  task  for  leaving  Kenwick 
so  entirely  to  his  own  devices.  She  sup 
posed  she  understood  her  sister  too  well 
to  have  any  anxiety  on  her  account.  The 
ready  interest  of  May's  manner  was  pre 
cisely  of  the  same  sort  as  that  with  which 
she  had  listened  to  Nanni's  instructions 
in  rowing,  or  to  Vittorio's  lessons  in  the 
Italian  tongue.  Pauline  remembered  how, 
only  the  other  day,  Vittorio  had  made 
mention  of  a  piccola  bcstia  with  whose 
name  they  were  not  familiar,  and  she 
smiled,  as  she  recalled  May's  triumph 
when,  at  last,  after  a  labored  description 
of  its  leading  characteristics,  it  had 
dawned  upon  her  that  the  small  beast 
with  a  smooth  coat,  a  pointed  nose,  a 
long  tail,  and — yes,  that  told  the  story  !— 
four  legs,  was  a  mouse  ! 

Nevertheless,  though  her  conscience 
was  easy  with  regard  to  her  sister,  Pau- 


224  &  Venetian  5une 


line  told  herself,  severely,  that  Geof  was 
being  very  hardly  used,  and  that  she,  by 
her  supineness,  was  as  much  to  blame  as 
Kenwick  for  the  artist's  unwarrantable 
behavior.  To  be  sure,  Geof  betrayed  no 
dissatisfaction  with  the  existing  arrange 
ment  ;  he  was  far  too  well-bred  for  that,— 
and  really,  how  fine  he  was,  in  this  as  in 
everything  !  One  would  have  thought 
that  he  was  deeply  interested  in  telling 
her  about  the  great  sea-wall  in  which  na 
ture  and  man  have  gone  into  partnership, 
and  upon  the  preservation  of  which  de 
pends  the  very  existence  --of  Venice. 
There  it  stretched  for  miles,  the  long, 
narrow  strip  of  sand  and  masonry,  and 
as  the  steamer  plied  the  waters  of  the  la 
goon,  hour  after  hour,  in  the  bright  June 
morning,  they  could  hear  the  tread  of  the 
breakers  on  the  beach  outside,  and  realize 
something  of  the  mighty  forces  that  must 
be  resisted  in  time  of  winter  storms. 

'  That  thing  almost  made  an  engineer 
of  me,"  Geof  observed. 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  said  Pauline,  with 


Summer's  3>a£ 


ready  comprehension  ;  "it  appeals  to  one 
immensely,"  and  Geof  knew  that  she 
was  in  sympathy  with  him,  that  not  a 
word  he  had  said,  not  a  word  he  had  left 
unsaid,  had  been  lost  upon  her. 

"  When  I  am  particularly  out  of  con 
ceit  with  myself,"  he  continued, — and  he 
liked  to  remember  that  there  was  no  one 
else  to  whom  he  would  have  talked  in 
this  strain, — "  I  get  to  thinking  that  per 
haps  it  was  a  mistake  not  to  stick  to  that 
first  notion.  It's  a  fine  thing  to  work 
for  defence." 

"Yes,"  said  Pauline,  after  the  little 
pause  he  knew  so  well,  and  which  he 
had  learned  not  to  break  in  upon, —  "  but, 
— is  n't  it  better  still  to  build  for  shelter  ? ' ' 

The  thoughtful  words,  fraught  with  so 
much  delicate  meaning,  touched  him  with 
a  sense  as  of  home  and  of  sweet  human 
happiness  ;  the  friendly  eyes,  turned  ques- 
tioningly  to  his,  thrilled  him  with  a  yet 
deeper  feeling.  A  look  came  into  his 
face  which  had  surely  never  been  seen 
there  before,  but  he  only  said,  in  his 
15 


226  B  Denetian  3-une 


deep,  honest  voice  :  "  You  have  given  a 
new  grace  to  my  bricks  and  mortar. ' ' 

Then  Pauline,  usually  so  modest  and 
so  self-contained,  was  conscious  of  a 
reprehensible  feeling  of  exultation,  and, 
by  a  singular  association  of  ideas,  she 
found  herself  constrained  to  remember 
what  Uncle  Dan  had  said  to  her  the  other 
evening.  She  glanced  at  him,  chatting, 
in  pleasant  good-fellowship,  with  the 
Signora,  and  she  was  glad  to  think  that 
they  too  were  to  be  made  happy  by  this 
beautiful  and  wonderful  thing  which  all 
agreed  was  in  the  air.  And  at  this  point 
hi  her  meditations  Pauline  became  pos 
sessed  of  such  an  irresistible,  and  certainly 
most  illogical  desire  to  give  a  little  sob, 
that  she  rose  abruptly  to  her  feet,  and 
went  to  look  at  her  sister's  sketches. 

They  were  nearing  the  end  of  their 
voyage,  and,  a  few  minutes  later,  they 
had  made  the  landing,  and  were  strolling 
through  the  ancient  town  in  search  of 
luncheon.  They  found  a  little  inn  at  the 
edge  of  the  water,  where  they  partook  of 


Summer^  2>a£  227 


omelette  and  native  wine,  served  in  a 
pretty  loggia  ;  after  which  they  sauntered 
about  the  place,  purchasing  a  piece  of 
lace  of  one  and  another  picturesque  old 
hag,  and  picking  up  some  quaint  bits  of 
pottery  in  a  dingy  shop  under  the  arcades. 
I^ater,  having  done  their  duty  by  the 
sights,  they  chartered  a  big  boat,  propelled 
by  two  strapping  oarsmen  and  a  couple 
of  very  splendid  sails,  and  voyaged  peace 
fully  down  a  sleepy  canal,  and  out  across 
a  bit  of  quiet  lagoon  to  the  strip  of  beach 
known  as  Sotto  Marina.  There,  on  the 
shore,  they  came  upon  a  solitary  child  in 
a  red  petticoat,  with  a  small  purple  shawl 
crossed  over  her  funny  little  person.  She 
was  apparently  absorbed  in  watching  the 
tiny  wavelets  at  her  feet,  scarcely  bestow 
ing  a  glance  upon  the  numberless  bril 
liant  sails,  scattered  like  a  field  of  Roman 
anemones  upon  the  deep  green  of  the  sea. 
As  the  strangers  descended  upon  her, 
the  little  recluse  payed  them  the  tribute 
of  a  fascinated  stare,  and  they,  in  return, 
did  their  best  to  instill  into  her  mind  the 


228  B  Venetian  3-une 


belief  that  they  were  creatures  of  another 
and  a  brighter  sphere.  Uncle  Dan  pre 
sented  her  with  a  peppermint  lozenge, 
Mrs.  Daymond  held  her  broad,  lace- 
trimmed  parasol  over  the  small  black 
head,  while  May  gave  her  a  glimpse  of 
the  world  through  each  end  of  her  opera- 
glass.  The  child  was  a  self-contained 
little  person,  and  betrayed  no  special 
elation  over  these  blandishments.  When 
the  time  for  parting  came,  Kenwick,  with 
much  ceremony,  presented  her  with  a 
bright  piece  of  nickle,  as  a  ricordo  of  the 
visit.  She  was  something  of  a  beauty, 
in  her  small  childish  way,  and  he  peti 
tioned  for  a  kiss  in  return.  This  the 
little  maid  politely  but  firmly  refused  ; 
her  favors  were  evidently  not  for  sale. 

"  If  you  won't  give  me  one,"  he  said, 
trying  not  to  look  abashed  at  the  rebuff, 
"  go  and  kiss  the  lady  you  love  best." 

They  were  all  standing  about  in  the 
bright  sunshine,  deriving  no  little  enter 
tainment  from  Kenwick's  discomfiture. 
The  child  took  the  proposition  very 


B  Summer's  2>a£  229 


seriously  ;  but,  after  a  moment's  de 
liberation,  she  walked  straight  up  to 
Pauline  and  lifted  a  small,  pursed-up 
mouth  to  her. 

k'  If  that  's  not  just  Pauline's  luck  !  " 
May  exclaimed,  as  her  sister  stooped  to 
receive  the  proffered  salutation.  "And 
she  is  the  only  one  of  us  all  who  has  n't 
paid  the  little  wretch  the  slightest  atten 
tion  !" 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  has,"  Geof  protested, 
in  perfect  good  faith.  "  She  has  been 
smiling  at  her  !  "  Upon  which  every 
body  laughed,  and  no  one  more  heartily 
than  Geof,  at  the  way  his  remark  had 
turned  out. 

Ken  wick's  merriment,  however,  was 
not  quite  sincere.  A  vague  mistrust  had 
crept  over  him  and  was  working  within 
him,  subtly  and  surely,  as  the  afternoon 
wore  on.  Had  he  been  mistaken  about 
Geof?  The  thought  was  too  distasteful 
to  be  seriously  entertained,  and  he  re 
jected  it  summarily.  Yet  it  had  not 
been  without  effect.  His  vanity  had 


230  B  IDenettan 


taken  alarm,  and  the  instinct  of  self-pres 
ervation  was  roused  in  his  mind. 

Yes,  he  thought  to  himself,  half-an- 
hour  later,  as  they  sailed  before  a  light 
wind  under  the  gay  Chioggia  canvas,  out 
toward  the  open  sea, — )^es,  he  had  been 
venturing  upon  deep  wraters,  and  it  was 
time  to  come  about.  It  was,  of  course, 
sheer  nonsense  to  suppose  that  Geofs 
taking  May's  defection  so  easily  was  an 
indication  of  any  real  indifference  on  his 
part.  He  was  only  too  plaguey  sure  of 
himself  to  feel  any  anxiety.  Geof  had 
always  had  an  irritating  way  of  taking 
things  for  granted  ;  but,  when  it  came 
to  the  point,  no  one  with  eyes  in  his  head 
could  be  really  indifferent  to  that  superb 
young  creature.  Kenwick  glanced  at 
the  slender  figure  perched  at  the  extreme 
prow  of  the  boat,  and  straightway  he 
experienced  an  awkward  wrench  some 
where  in  the  neighborhood  of  that  organ 
to  which  is  attributed  so  large  a  share  in 
our  emotional  embarrassments.  And  it 
was  at  this  juncture  that  Kenwick  had 


B  Summer's  2>a£  231 

recourse  to  a  curious  befooling  of  himself 
in  which  long  practice  had  made  him  an 

adept. 

A   sail   was  just   passing,  a   deep  red 
one,    bearing   the   design   of    globe   and 
cross  in  crude  outline  of  uncompromising 
black.     As   he   regarded,  absently,   that 
primitive  religious  symbol,  there  awoke 
within  him  a  certain  phantom  conscience, 
which  was  wont  to  play  an  effective  part 
in  his  elaborate  process  of  self-mystifica 
tion.     To-day  this  facile  monitor  hinted 
that  if  Geof  did  feel  so  sure  of  himself,  it 
would  hardly  be  the  part  of  a  friend  to 
press  his  own  advantage  too  far.     Geof 
was  a  good  fellow  ;  he  really  had  a  great 
opinion  of  Oliver  Ken  wick's  talent,  and 
did  not  hesitate  to  say  so  on  occasion. 
It  would  never  do  to  play  him  any  un 
handsome  tricks.    The  more  unsuspicious 
he  was,  the  more  it  behooved  Ken  wick  to 
guard    his    interests.      Yes  ;    he    would 
withdraw  in   Geof  s  favor,  he  would  be 
hanged  if  he  would  n't  ! 

And  so  it  came  about  that  by  the  time 


Venetian  3une 


they  were  returning  northward  again  in 
the  Venice  steamer,  Kenwick  had  worked 
himself  up  to  a  really  lofty  pitch  of  self- 
sacrifice.  He  would  go  off  in  the  Stick- 
neys'  yacht  with  them  to-morrow,  by 
Jove  he  would  !  Luckily  for  him,  he 
had  left  the  invitation  open,  not  from  any 
intention  of  accepting  it,  but  simply  be 
cause  he  had  never  in  his  life  burnt  a 
bridge.  A  good  principle  that  ;  he  would 
always  stick  to  it. 

As  the  lovely  sunset  light  grew  and 
deepened,  Venice  came  up  like  a  vision 
out  of  the  sea.  The  cloudless  sky  was 
tinged  with  yellow,  and  the  water  rip 
pled  in  moulten  gold  up  to  the  very  side 
of  the  boat.  He  turned  to  May,  who 
chanced  to  be  standing  beside  him,  look 
ing,  with  level  gaze,  straight  into  the 
serene  heart  of  the  sky.  She  had  cer 
tainly  a  softer,  gentler  look  than  she  used 
to  wear.  Would  it  deepen  as  he  spoke  ? 

'This  is  a  charming  ending  to  my 
visit  here,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"Ending?"   May   exclaimed,  turning 


B  Summer's  Das  233 

upon  him  that  bright,  straightforward 
look  with  which  she  met  every  statement 
of  fact.  "Ending?  Why,  you  are  not 
going  away  ?  ' ' 

"Yes;  I  am  off  with  the  Stickneys 
early  to-morrow  morning." 

41  In  the  Urania  ?  You  are  in  luck  ! 
But  why  did  n't  you  tell  us  before  ?  " 

"  I  could  n't  bear  to  speak  of  it,"  he 
averred,  and  at  the  moment  he  almost 
believed  he  was  speaking  the  truth.  "It 
costs  me  too  much  to  go  away." 

"Well,  I  don't  wonder,"  May  de 
clared;  "there's  nothing  like  Venice. 
Still,  you  live  abroad  half  the  time,  and 
can  come  here  whenever  you  please." 

"  Ah,  Miss  May  !  "  he  exclaimed,  and 
this  time  he  was  absolutely  sincere. 
"Venice  will  never  be  the  same  to  me 

again." 

She  could  not  altogether  misunder 
stand  his  meaning,  but  it  was  impossible 
to  take  him  very  seriously,  and,  prompted 
by  a  not  too  lively  curiosity,  she  asked  : 
"  Then  why  do  you  go?  " 


234  B  Venetian  3une 


Because  it  would  be  wrong  for  me  to 
stay,"  he  replied,  with  a  subdued,  almost 
convincing  emphasis. 

"Then  of  course  you  must  go,"  she 
returned,  with  the  youthful  decision  that 
rarely  failed  her;  adding,  consolingly,  as 
her  eyes  wandered  back  to  the  sunset  : 
"  And  I  've  no  doubt  you  will  enjoy  the 
Urania  quite  as  much  as  Venice." 


£\D.    June  IRoses. 

HS  Kenwick  stood,    the    next   morn 
ing,  on  the  deck  of  the  beautiful 
pleasure-boat  for  whose  splendors  he  had 
betrayed   so    lively    an    appreciation,   he 
looked  back  across  the  widening  distance 
with    a   sense   of  regret   more   poignant 
than  he  was  at  all  prepared  to  deal  with. 
Even  when  they  were  actually  weighing 
anchor,  he  found  himself  considering  the 
feasibility  of  a  retreat,   and  now,  as  the 
screw   turned,  and  the   water,  on  whose 
tranquil  bosom  he  had  floated  so  peace 
fully,  was  churned  into  a  seething  froth, 
235 


236  B  Venetian  5une 

a  sickening  misgiving  seized  him.  Had 
he  paid  too  high  a  price  to  preserve  the 
integrity  of  his  scheme  of  life?— or  rath 
er, — he  hastened  to  correct  himself, — 
had  he  made  too  great  a  sacrifice  to  the 
claims  of  friendship  ?  That  was  the  more 
consoling  view  to  take.  He  had  done 
the  handsome  thing  and  he  would  not 
flinch,— especially  since  he  could  not 
now  do  so  without  making  himself  ri 
diculous. 

Kenwick  refrained  from  asking  him 
self  why  he  should  consider  Daymond's 
claim  paramount  to  his  own  ;  he  was  not 
given  to  searching  analysis  of  his  own 
motives.  The  man  who  values  his  illu 
sions  soon  learns  the  best  way  of  preserv 
ing  them,  and  the  illusion  in  question 
was  doubly  valuable,  since  it  bade  fair, 
under  judicious  tending,  to  invest  the 
mythical  Oliver  Kenwick,  already  so  dear 
to  his  imagination,  with  a  nimbus  of 
romantic  devotion  most  agreeable  to  con 
template. 

His  fellow-passengers  were  a  talkative 


$une  Ifloses  237 

and  somewhat  egotistical  company,  and 
he  was  left  more  completely  to  himself, 
for  the  first  few  moments  than,  on  ordi 
nary  occasions,  he  would  have  found 
quite  to  his  mind.  No  one  was  likely  to 
note  the  persistency  with  which  his 
glance  returned  to  one  of  the  high,  stone 
balconies  of  the  Hotel  Venezia. 

There  was  one  chance  in  ten  that  a 
certain  tall,  girlish  figure  might  appear 
there,  as  it  had  so  often  done  in  the  care 
lessly  fleeting  days  that  were  already 
past  and  gone  ;  there  was  one  chance 
in  twenty  that  it  might  appear  for  his 
sake,  that  a  fluttering  white  handker 
chief  might  assure  him  of  certain  pleas 
ant  things.  He  strained  his  eyes  to  the 
last  possible  moment,  in  the  hope  of  such 
a  sight ;  but  he  was  too  mindful  of  ap 
pearances  even  in  the  stress  and  strain 
of  painful  emotion,  to  take  out  his  opera- 
glass  and  turn  it  upon  that  point.  He 
did,  however,  so  far  forget  himself,  as 
to  sigh  profoundly,  and  without  that 
guarded  look  to  right  and  left,  which 


23%  B  Venetian  5une 

should  always  precede  such  an  indul 
gence.  That,  in  itself,  was  a  very  marked 
concession  to  feeling. 

There  remained  to  Kenwick  one  conso 
lation  besides  that  of  having  behaved 
handsomely  to  Daymond  ;  he  had  left  a 
fragrant,  if  not  a  lasting  memory  behind 
him.  Would  she  not  be  pleased,  would 
she  not  be  touched,  when,  presently,  his 
roses  were  brought  to  her?  She  was 
to  find  them  when  she  came  up  from 
breakfast ;  his  directions  to  the  porter  on 
that  head  had  been  very  explicit.  And 
would  not  the  roses,  beautiful  in  them 
selves,  gain  a  telling  significance,  by  rea 
son  of  the  message  they  bore  ?  On  the 
reverse  side  of  his  card  he  had  written, 
in  his  small,  clear  hand,  the  words  : 

"  All  June  I  bound  the  rose  in  sheaves." 

The  line  seemed  to  him  extremely  well 
chosen  ;  it  could  hardly  fail  to  stimulate 
the  imagination.  He,  himself,  felt  its 
haunting  quality,  and  he  had  repeated 


239 


it,  under  his  breath,  as  he  followed  the 
gardener  about,  urging  him  to  cull  his 
choicest  roses. 

As  he  mused  upon  these  things,  the 
yacht,  rounding  Santa  Klena,  steamed 
away  to  the  Porto  del  L,ido,  and  he  sud 
denly  became  aware  that  Miss  Hortense 
Stickney '  s  inquisitive  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
him.  He  was  instantly  on  his  guard. 

"Well,  that  's  the  last  of  Venice,"  he 
exclaimed,  "and  I  'm  glad  of  it.  One 
gets  tired  of  dawdling  about  on  a  magni 
fied  frog-pond.  One  begins  to  long  for 
the  open  sea."  Miss  Stickney  looked 
gratified,  and  Ken  wick  felt  himself  once 
more  in  his  element. 

May  Beverly,  meanwhile,  had  been 
frankly  delighted  with  the  roses.  So  en 
chanting  did  .she  find  them,  indeed,  that 
she  had  merely  glanced  at  the  card,  and 
had  tossed  it  into  the  waste-paper  basket 
without  looking  at  the  reverse  side. 

"Just  think  of  it,  Pauline  !  "  she  had 
cried  ;  "he  must  have  been  way  over  to 
the  Giudecca  this  very  morning  to  get 


240  B  Denetian  $une 


them.     I  wonder  if  the  Urania  has  sailed 
yet." 

''Nine  o'clock  was  the  hour,  was  it 
not?"  Pauline  asked,  taking  up  one  of 
the  roses  and  holding  it  to  her  face.  '  '  It 
must  be  after  that." 

"Yes,  it's  too  late,"  said  May,  asshe 
stepped  out  upon  the  balcony;  "she's 
half-way  to  the  Public  Gardens.  But 
I  'm  going  to  wave,  all  the  same." 

And  so  it  chanced,  by  the  perversity 
of  fate,  that  if  Kenwick  had  but  risked 
using  his  opera-glass,  he  would  not  have 
looked  in  vain. 

May  watched  the  yacht  until  it  dis 
appeared  from  sight,—  for  she  had  not 
before  seen  the  graceful  craft  in  motion, 
—  and  then  she  returned  to  the  contem 
plation  of  her  roses.  As  she  lifted  them, 
one  by  one,  and  arranged  them  deftly 
in  a  broad-mouthed  Chioggia  jug,  she 
was  moved  to  exclaim:  "I  do  think 
that  was  really  kind  of  him  !  Do  you 
know,  Pauline,  I'm  afraid  we  did  n't 
like  him  half  enough." 


3-une  IRoses  241 

It  was  but  a  passing  compunction, 
however,  and  the  roses  themselves  were 
not  destined  to  receive  the  attention 
which  their  beauty  fairly  entitled  them 
to.  It  did  not  seem  quite  feasible  to  take 
them  to  San  Giorgio  degli  Scliiavoni, 
and  even  had  they  gone,  they  would 
soon  have  been  forgotten  in  the  delights 
which  that  modest  little  sanctuary  offers. 
The  sunshine  of  four  hundred  years  ago 
that  glows  in  mellow  warmth  upon  Car- 
paccio's  canvases,  the  vigor  and  the 
piety  and  the  fun  of  that  "wayward 
patchwork,"  are  more  vital  and  more 
absorbing  than  any  mortal  roses. 

And  if,  in  the  morning,  Ken  wick's 
interests  had  been  subordinated  to  Art, 
Nature  proved  no  less  exacting  in  the 
afternoon.  For  then  it  was  that  the  red 
banner  and  the  blue  pursued  together 
yet  unexplored  paths  of  the  northern 
lagoon,  returning  whence,  the  city  was 
seen  in  a  new  perspective,  the  great  cam 
panile  in  particular,  taking  up  a  position 
so  contrary  to  all  precedent,  that  May 


242  a  Venetian  5une 


was  half  inclined  to  believe  that  it  actu 
ally  did  "promenade,"  as  Vittorio  so 
picturesquely  expressed  it. 

The  evening  again  was  a  glorious  one, 
and  again  the  roses  were  left  behind. 
When  the  Colonel  and  his  Pollys  ap 
peared  at  the  steps  of  the  Venezia,  Vit 
torio  greeted  them  with  a  radiant  "  bel- 
lissimo!"  The  moon  was  all  but  full 
and  not  a  breath  of  air  stirred  the  wide 
reaches  of  the  lagoon,  visible  beyond 
San  Giorgio.  One  of  the  musicians' 
barges  was  drawn  up  in  front  of  the 
hotel  ;  the  first  song  was  in  progress, 
and  gondolas  from  the  upper  canal  were 
approaching,  with  soft  dip  of  oar,  and 
gleaming  of  tiny  lights. 

The  singer  was  a  woman.  She  was 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  boat,  one 
hand  clinging,  as  if  for  support,  to  the 
shoulder  of  a  violinist.  The  voice  was 
high  and  strained  ;  painfully  strained, 
it  seemed,  to  Pauline's  quick  percep 
tion. 

"  How  tired  that  woman's  voice  is  !  " 


5une  Iftoses  243 


she  exclaimed.      ''Do   let  us  give  them 
something  !  " 

Vittorio  brought  the  gondola  close 
alongside  the  barge,  but  before  Pauline 
could  make  her  offering,  the  strained 
voice  broke,  the  figure  swayed  heavily 
to  one  side,  and  the  woman  sank  to  the 
floor,  supported  in  the  arms  of  one  of 
the  men.  The  big  boat  instantly  moved 
away,  and  in  another  moment,  the  .swing 
ing  paper  lanterns,  illumining  but  faintly 
the  anxious  group  of  musicians,  had 
disappeared  down  a  side  canal. 

The  other  gondolas  had  not  yet  come 
up,  and  Vittorio,  without  waiting  for 
orders,  rowed  after  the  retreating  barge, 
which  he  overtook  with  a  few  vigor 
ous  strokes  of  the  oar.  The  men  had 
stopped  rowing,  and  someone  was  calling 
for  a  gondola.  The  Colonel's  boat  was 
promptly  placed  at  their  service. 

The  woman  had  already  recovered 
consciousness,  and  was  murmuring  piti 
fully  :  "A  casa,  a  casa  !  "  Her  husband 
helped  her  aboard  the  gondola,  where 


244  B  Venetian  3une 


Pauline  took  compassionate  possession  of 
her,  ministering  to  her  in  gentle,  discern 
ing  wise.  May,  usually  so  fertile  in 
resource,  found  nothing  to  offer  but  her 
vinaigrette,  which  the  patient  did  not 
take  kindly  to  ;  while  Uncle  Dan,  with 
misguided  zeal,  administered  a  severe 
rebuke  to  the  unhappy  husband,  for 
allowing  his  wife  to  sing,  when  she  was 
so  manifestly  unequal  to  the  effort. 

"Ah,  Signore,"  the  man  replied,  in 
a  tone  of  dull  discouragement,  "you 
do  not  know  poverty  !  "  Whereupon  the 
Colonel  admitted  that  it  was  vero,  and, 
becoming  very  penitent  indeed,  began 
grubbing  about  his  person  in  search  of 
paper  money,  and  calling  himself  names 
for  having  left  his  wallet  in  the  pocket 
of  his  other  coat. 

Meanwhile,  Vittorio  was  rowing  them 
swiftly  down  narrow  canals  with  many 
windings,  where  the  water  flowed  black 
in  the  shadow,  and  gleamed  weirdly  in 
the  light  of  a  chance  gas-lamp.  The 
moon  was  not  yet  high  enough  to  look 


June  IRoses  245 

down  between  those  close-ranged  walls, 
but,  above  them,  the  sky  stretched,  a 
luminous,  deep  blue  ribbon,  upon  which 
only  the  brighter  stars  could  hold  their 

own. 

News  of  the  mishap  had  outstripped 
the  gondola.  Two  turns  of  an  alley 
way,  a  couple  of  bridges,  a  dash  across 
a  square,  and  another  alley-way,  had 
brought  a  messenger  to  the  house,  while 
the  gondola  was  still  gliding  on  its  tortu 
ous  way.  A  group  of  women  awaited 
their  arrival. 

"I  wish  we  might  have  gone  in,  to 
see  how  they  live,"  May  said,  regretfully, 
as  they  pushed  off,  leaving  the  woman  in 
the  hands  of  her  friends. 

"It's  probably  a  very  poor  way  of 
living,"  Uncle  Dan  surmised.  'The 
kind  that  makes  a  man  feel  like  a  scoun 
drel  the  next  time  he  smokes  a  good 
cigar." 

"Why,  you're  a  regular  socialist, 
Uncle  Dan,"  cried  May.  "I  didn't 
know  that!  " 


246  B  Venetian  3-une 


"Neither  did  I,  Polly,"  the  Colonel 
replied,  pulling  viciously  at  his  mous 
tache.  "I  don't  so  much  mind  being 
better  off  than  other  folks,"  he  added, 
thoughtfully;  "but  somehow,  you  do 
hate  to  have  other  folks  worse  off  than 
you  !" 

They  were  retracing  their  way  down 
one  of  the  narrowest  and  darkest  canals, 
when  the  the  warning  cry, — "  premi-o  !  " 
— echoing  round  an  unsuspected  corner 
told  them  of  an  approaching  gondola. 

"  Ecco,  mio  fratello !  "  Vittorio  ex 
claimed,  answering,  then,  with  his  own 
sonorous  call  ;  and  an  instant  later,  the 
prow  of  his  brother's  gondola  came  steal 
ing  out  of  the  shadow. 

As  the  boats  passed  one  another,  Vit 
torio  said  a  few  words  in  dialect,  which 
were  quite  unintelligible  to  the  foreign 
ers.  Yet  May  felt  sure  that  Nanni  was 
being  sent  to  the  house  they  had  just  left. 

' '  Do  you  and  Nanni  know  the  singer  ? ' ' 
she  asked,  as  they  came  out  into  the  full 
moonlight,  above  the  Rialto  bridge. 


5une  IRoses  247 

"  Si,  Signorina,"  the  gondolier  replied, 
with  prompt  exactitude;  "her  sister's 
brother-in-law  was  the  nephew  of  our 
grandmother's  niece  by  marriage." 

"Oh!"  May  gasped,  rendered,  for 
once,  inarticulate,  by  this  surprising  ex 
hibition  of  genealogic  lore. 

They  were  late  in  coming  in  that  even 
ing,  and,  as  the  girls  opened  their  cham 
ber  door,  the  perfume  of  the  roses  wafted 
to  them  conveyed  a  delicate  hint  of 
unmerited  neglect. 

"Poor  things!"  said  Pauline;  "it 
was  a  shame  to  leave  them  to  themselves 
all  day  long,  doing  nobody  any  good  !  " 
"  I  know  it,"  May  admitted  ;  "  it  was 
a  shame;  but  I  didn't  want  to  wear 
them,  in  all  this  heat,  and  I  could  n't  very 
well  sit  and  tend  them,  all  day  !  I  know 
what  we  will  do,"  she  added,  with  quick 
decision;  "  we  will  take  them  round  to 
the  poor  singer  in  the  morning.  Per 
haps  they  may  give  her  pleasure." 

"  I  wonder  how  Mr.   Kenwick  would 
like  that,"  queried  Pauline,  who,  in  spite 


248  B  iDenetfan  5une 


of  an  inborn  loyalty  to  the  absent,  was 
not  ill-pleased  with  the  suggestion. 

"  I  don't  believe  he  would  mind," 
said  May,  as  she  plunged  the  beautiful 
things  up  to  their  necks  in  the  water- 
pitcher  ;  "he  has  probably  forgotten,  by 
this  time,  that  he  ever  sent  them." 

And  Kenwick,  stretched  upon  the  deck 
of  the  Urania  in  the  moonlight,  after 
the  others  had  gone  below,  was,  at  that 
very  moment,  murmuring  softly  to  him 
self: 

"  All  June  I  bound  the  rose  in  sheaves." 


Surrender* 


>«V  AY  BEVERLY 
JL  IB  J     was   not 

given to the  study 
of  her  own  coun- 
t  e  n  a  n  c  e .  She 
knew,  of  course, 
that  it  was  a  cred 
itable  production 
of  Nature,  that 
she  had  good 
features  and  pretty  color 
ing  and  that  her  fellow-creatures,  as  a 
rule,  seemed  to  like  her  looks.  Beauty 
had  not  stolen  upon  her  at  unawares  as  the 
case  is  with  so  many  young  girls.  She 
had  always  been  pretty,  with  the  unques 
tioned,  outspoken  prettiness  of  a  graceful 
animal  or  a  bright- lined  flower.  She 
took  it  for  granted,  as  she  did  those  other 
gifts,  of  health  and  youth,  and,  on  the 
whole,  she  gave  it  very  little  thought. 

It  was  therefore  the  more  remarkable 
that  she  should  have  just  been  spending 
a  good  half-hour  before  the  looking-glass. 
She  had  the  room  to  herself  this  after- 


249 


2so  21  Venetian  3une 

noon,  for  Pauline  had  gone  again  to  Tor- 
cello,  this  time  with  a  party  of  old  friends 
who  had  recently  made  their  appearance 
in  Venice,  and  whose  claims  upon  her 
sister  May  was  somewhat  inclined  to 
question.  To-day,  however,  their  exac 
tions  fell  in  most  opportunely  with  a 
certain  plan  of  her  own,  which  had  come 
to  her  in  the  shape  of  a  great  inspiration. 
The  Torcello  party  had  started  directly 
after  luncheon  and  were  to  return  by 
moonlight,  and,  Pauline  being  thus  satis 
factorily  disposed  of,  there  remained  but 
one  lion  in  the  path,  in  the  person, 
namely,  of  Uncle  Dan. 

As  May  stood  before  the  dressing-table, 
upon  which  were  billows  of  bright  silk 
handkerchiefs,  each  of  which  had  in  turn 
suffered  rejection  at  her  hands,  she  was 
arranging  a  large  fichu  of  Spanish  lace 
upon  her  head  in  such  fashion  as  to  com 
pletely  cover  her  pretty  hair.  She  tilted 
her  head  first  at  one  angle  and  then  at 
another,  scowling  fiercely  in  her  effort  to 
decide  how  great  a  change  had  been 


21  Surrender  251 

wrought  in  her  appearance.  Whether 
owing  to  the  presence  of  the  scowl,  or  to 
the  absence  of  the  yellow  top-knot,  the 
countenance  certainly  had  a  very  unfa 
miliar  look,  and,  well  pleased  with  the 
effect,  she  turned  away  and  stepped  out 
upon  the  balcony. 

The  day  was  very  warm,  not  a  breath 
of  air   found  its   way  under  the  broad, 
striped    awning    that    cast    its    grateful 
shadow  upon  the  balcony  ;  the  very  water 
gleamed  hot  and  desert,  and  the  cooing 
of  the   Salute   doves  had  the  gurgling, 
simmering   sound  of  a  great  tea-kettle. 
May  leaned  her  arms  upon  the  cushions 
of  the  stone  balustrade  and  looked  down 
and    off    toward    San     Giorgio.       How 
beautiful   it    was,    even    at   high    noon, 
and  how  glorious  it  would  be  to-night, 
when    the    full    moon    came    sailing    up 
into    the    twilight    sky,    and    the    cool, 
sweet  breath  of  evening  was  wafted  over 
the  waters  !     What  an  evening  it  would 
be  !     One  to  remember    all  her  life,    all 
that   long,    every-day    kind   of  life    that 


B  Venetian  Sune 


stretched    so    unendingly    on    into    the 
future. 

They  had  gone  that  morning,  she  and 
Pauline,  to  carry  the  roses  to  the  Signora 
Canti.  They  had  found  the  poor  singer 
weak  and  ill  and  disheartened.  The 
doctor  had  told  her  she  must  not  sing  for 
some  days  yet, — surely  not  this  evening, 
— and  to-night  was  full  moon,  when  the 
tourists  throng  the  Grand  Canal,  and  be 
fore  another  full  moon  should  come  the 
heat  would  have  driven  the  pleasure- 
seekers  away.  "  They  fear  the  heat,  the 
forestieri  !  " 

There  was  no  one  to  take  her  place,  the 
woman  said.  Just  the  chorus  singing 
would  attract  but  few  listeners  ;  the  other 
serenaders  would  get  all  the  people. 
This  was  the  harvest  time  and  it  must  be 
wasted.  Ah  !  The  roses  were  molto 
belle,  bellissime,  Signorina, — but  it  was 
clear  that  they  offered  little  consolation 
for  real  troubles. 

And,  sitting  there  in  the  tiny  room 
where  the  shutters  were  close  drawn 


Surrender  253 


against  the  morning  sun, — which  never 
theless  pierced  through  a  crack  and  lit  up, 
with  one  straight  beam,  the  pitiful,  drawn 
face  of  the  poor  cantatrice,  her  great  in 
spiration  came  to  May.  She  had  a  voice 
and  she  could  sing.  Why  should  she  not 
sing  for  this  poor  woman,  sing  in  the 
moonlight  and  gather  the  gondolas  about 
her?  Oh,  there  would  be  no  lack  of  a 
soul  in  her  singing,  out  there  in  the 
moonlight.  Signer  Firenzo  would  not 
have  lectured  and  entreated  her  in  vain. 
She  knew  now  what  he  meant.  She  had 
been  longing  to  sing,  many  an  evening 
on  the  starlit  lagoons  and  she  had  not 
dared. 

A  group  of  little  children  had  come 
into  their  mother's  room,  and  were  hud 
dling  shyly  in  a  corner,  gazing,  wide-eyed 
and  silent,  at  the  strange  ladies  and  the 
gorgeous  roses,  the  like  of  which  had 
never  before  found  their  way  there.  May 
hardly  noticed  the  children,  so  preoccu 
pied  was  she  with  her  own  thoughts,  but 
the  sight  of  them  gave  her  sister  courage. 


254  B  Venetian  $une 


As  they  rose  to  go,  Pauline  drew  money 
from  her  pocket,  and,  bending  over  the 
woman,  she  said,  very  gently  :  "  Signora, 
we  have  never  half  thanked  you  for  your 
singing.  May  we  do  so  now  ?  " 

The  woman's  eyes  shone,  and  a  pretty 
color  went  up  the  pale,  gaunt  cheek. 

"Ah!"  she  said.  "You  have  listened 
to  my  singing,  and  with  pleasure  ?  And 
it  is  truly  for  my  singing  that  you  give 
me  this,  and  not  because  you  are  sorry 
for  me  ?  " 

And  Pauline,  remembering  how  often 
the  tired  voice,  strained  to  a  high,  uncer 
tain  pitch,  sounding  across  the  water  like 
a  cry  for  succor,  had  filled  her  with  com 
passion,  could  say  with  truth  ;  "  Signora, 
your  singing  has  touched  our  hearts." 

As  May  stood  upon  the  balcony,  gazing 
far  out  over  the  lagoon,  her  young  eyes 
undazzled  by  the  intense  mid-day  light, 
she  thought  how  sweet  it  would  be  to  see 
again  that  look  of  grateful  pleasure  upon 
the  worn  face.  Ah,  she  would  sing ! 
How  she  would  sing  !  She  would  sing 


B  Surrenfcet  255 


the  heart  into  those  people  in  the  gon 
dolas  ;  she  would  sing  the  money  out 
of  their  purses  !  The  gondolas  should 
gather  about  her  till  the  water  was  black 
with  them.  She  would  sing  till  the  night 
rang  with  the  sound  of  her  voice  !  A 
sense  of  power  had  come  into  her,  which 
she  had  never  felt  before.  She  should 
take  command  of  those  musicians,  she 
should  take  command  of  that  mysterious, 
floating  audience.  No  one  would  know 
her  ;  she  should  not  know  herself.  For 
one  splendid  hour  she  should  be  set  free 
of  herself. 

It  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  that 
May  Beverly  had  found  herself  mastered 
by  an  enthusiasm.  The  consciousness 
of  it  suddenly  seized  her  and  filled  her 
with  a  curious  misgiving.  She  knelt 
down  upon  the  floor  of  the  balcony,  and, 
leaning  her  forehead  against  the  cushion 
of  the  balustrade,  she  tried  to  collect  her 
thoughts,  to  regain  her  balance. 

She  wondered  if  she  were  very  foolish, 
if  it  were  a  mere  outbreak  of  shallow 


256  B  Venetian  5une 


vanity  that  ought  to  be  suppressed.  She 
hoped  not.  Of  course  this  thing  that  she 
wanted  to  do  was  shockingly  unconven 
tional.  Anywhere  else,  under  any  other 
circumstances,  it  would  be  out  of  char 
acter  ;  but  here  in  Venice  everything  was 
different .  She  tried  to  shut  out  the  magic 
city  from  her  thoughts, — to  return  to  a 
perfectly  normal  state  of  mind. 

The  hour  was  very  still,  even  the  doves 
had  fallen  silent.  For  a  few  seconds,  as 
she  knelt  with  covered  eyes  in  her  high 
balcony,  only  one  sound  reached  her 
ears  ;  but  that  was  the  dip  of  an  oar, 
the  very  heart-beat  of  Venice.  It  had 
the  intimate,  penetrating  power  of  a 
whispered  incantation  ;  it  touched  and 
quickened  the  imagination  more  than  peal 
of  bells  or  chant  of  marching  priests. 
And  as  she  knelt  and  listened  the  young 
girl  felt  a  scorn  of  the  past  and  its  limi 
tations  and  its  trivial  satisfactions — its 
petty  reference  of  everything  to  a  small, 
personal  standard.  The  great  outer  world 
was  knocking  at  the  door  of  her  heart, 


Surrender  257 


the  world  of  suffering,  and  the  world  of 
joy,  the  world  of  romance,  and  the  world 
of  real  human  experience. 

She  would  sing  to-night ;  she  would 
let  her  own  personality  go,  and  be  just 
a  human  creature  doing  a  daring,  inspir 
ing  thing  for  the  sake  of  another  human 
creature  who  was  in  need.  With  a  sense 
of  exultant  self-surrender  she  lifted  her 
face  and  looked  up  at  the  Salute.  Its 
domes  and  pinnacles  had  been  hidden  by 
the  low-hanging  awning,  but  now,  with 
her  eyes  on  a  level  with  the  balustrade, 
she  could  see  the  lovely  temple  in  all  its 
gracious  outlines. 

"  And  I  remember  I  used  to  wonder 
whether  I  liked  it,"  she  thought  to  her 
self,  with  a  singular  feeling,  as  if  she  had 
been  recalling  a  past  state  of  existence. 

She  rose  to  her  feet  and  stepped  inside. 
A  pile  of  sheet  music  lay  upon  the  table, 
and  she  stood  a  few  minutes  beside  it, 
turning  over  the  leaves  and  humming 
softly  to  herself.  There  was  a  rap  at  the 
door,  and  Uncle  Dan  appeared. 


258  B  Venetian  5une 


At  once  her  mood  had  changed.  She 
was  Polly,  and  here  was  Uncle  Dan,  to 
be  cajoled  and  entreated  and  vanquished. 

"Oh,  Uncle  Dan!"  she  cried,  "I 
thought  you  never  were  coming  !  I  want 
to  talk  to  you." 

"Why,  Polly  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  what 
are  you  up  to  ?  You  look  like  a  fright 
in  that  thing  !" 

' '  Which  means,  you  never  would  have 
known  me,"  Polly  declared  mischiev 
ously.  "That's  just  what  I  wanted. 
Now  come  in  like  a  dear  and  let  me  talk  to 
you.  No,  sit  in  this  chair, — it's  much 
more  comfortable.  Have  you  had  your 
cigar?  " 

"Of  course  I  have.  It's  nearly  an 
hour  since  luncheon." 

"  Don't  you  want  another  ?" 

' '  Polly  !    What  are  you  driving  at  ?  " 

"  I  only  wanted  to  make  you  perfectly 
comfortable,  so  that  you  would  enjoy 
having  a  little  chat  with  me." 

She  had  seated  herself  in  a  low  chair 
opposite  him,  where  she  could  look 


Surrenfcer  259 


straight  into  his  eyes.  She  pulled  off  the 
black  lace  and  proceeded  to  fold  it  with 
great  care  and  precision.  There  was  a 
look  in  her  face,  calculated  to  make  the 
old  soldier  call  out  all  his  reserves. 

11  Well,  out  with  it,  Polly  !  "  he  cried. 

"It's  about  that  poor  singer,  Uncle 
Dan  ;  the  woman  we  took  home  last  night. 
You  remember  ?  ' ' 

"  Remember  ?  I'm  not  losing  my  fac 
ulties,  Polly  !  ' ' 

1 '  Yes  ;  of  course  you  remember  !  What 
was  I  thinking  of  ?  Well,  you  know  we 
went  to  see  her  this  morning,  and  took 
her  those  roses  of  Mr.  Kenwick's.  Uncle 
Dan, — they  didn't  seem  to  meet  the 
case  !  ' '  and  May  looked  at  her  victim 
with  the  gravity  of  a  secretary  of  the  met 
ropolitan  board  of  charities. 

"That  was  rather  hard  on  those  par 
ticular  roses,"  Uncle  Dan  observed,  with 
a  certain  grim  satisfaction. 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  was.  But, — Uncle  Dan, 
I've  thought  of  something  much  better 
than  roses.  I  'm  going  to  sing  for  her  !  " 


26o  B  Venetian 


"  Will  that  meet  the  case  ?  "  asked  the 
Colonel,  doubtfully.  He  too  had  been 
wondering  what  could  be  done  for  the 
niece  by  marriage  of  Vittorio's  grand 
mother's — what  did  he  say  she  was? 

"  Yes  ;  for  you  see  I  shall  be  a  novelty, 
and  I  sing  better  than  she  does,  and  we 
shall  take  a  lot  of  money. ' ' 

"  A  lot  of  money,  for  singing  to  that 
woman  ?  Polly,  what  are  you  talking 
about?" 

And  then  it  was  that  Polly  took  the 
field,  and  marshalled  all  her  arguments, 
and  did  such  valiant  battle  to  the  Colo 
nel's  dearest  prejudices  and  most  cher 
ished  theories,  that  he  was  fairly 
bewildered  and  demoralized. 

She  knew  she  could  do  it,  she  knew  she 
could  sing,  and  singing  always  sounded 
lovely  on  the  water.  She  was  in  splendid 
voice, — she  had  been  practicing  pianis 
simo,  and  it  went  like  a  charm.  Not  a  soul 
would  know  her.  She  was  going  to  wear 
a  plain  black  skirt  and  a  sulphur  shawl, 
— she  had  always  meant  to  buy  a  sulphur 


B  Surrender  261 


shawl, — and  a  lot  of  beads  round  her 
neck.  She  was  going  to  twist  some 
black  stuff  about  her  hair,  and  then  pin 
the  Spanish  lace  on  in  the  most  artistic 
and  Italian  manner. 

"  And  you  know,  Uncle  Dan,  my  hair 
is  the  most  noticeable  thing  about  me. 
When  that's  covered  up  I  am  quite 
another  person.  And  then  the  light 
will  be  very  dim,  and  so  many  queer 
colors  from  the  swinging  lanterns  that 
I  sha'  n't  have  the  vestige  of  a  com 
plexion  left  !  " 

"But  the  promiscuous  audience,  the 
rough  company  on  the  barge  !  ' '  the  Colo 
nel  urged,  struggling  but  feebly  against 
a  premonition  of  defeat.  Already  the 
old  soldier  quailed  miserably  before  the 
enemy. 

' '  They  are  not  a  rough  company, ' '  Polly 
declared.  "  I  asked  Vittorio  all  about 
it.  He  knows  nearly  all  the  men,  and  he 
says  they  are  gallant  uoniini.  Signor 
Canti  will  be  there,  and  he  will  take 
beautiful  care  of  me.  Signora  Canti  is 


262  21  Dcnetian  3une 


to  have  all  the  proceeds  beyond  a  certain 
sum  that  the  others  will  agree  upon." 

"The  thing  seems  pretty  well  settled 
between  you  and  your  gallant  homi 
nies"  growled  Uncle  Dan,  trying  to  be 
severe. 

"  No  ;  it 's  all  settled  in  my  own  mind, 
but  I  haven't  breathed  a  word  of  it  to 
anybody  but  you.  And  of  course  you. 
have  got  to  say  yes,  before  I  shall  take 
any  steps  !  " 

Superficially  regarded,  this  seemed  like 
a  concession  ;  but  the  Colonel  knew  bet 
ter.  ' '  You  have  got  to  say  yes  !  "  To 
his  ears  it  sounded  like  the  fiat  of  inex 
orable  fate,  and  he  only  gazed,  with  a  look 
of  comical  deprecation  at  the  youthful  or 
ator,  who  was  gesticulating  with  the  lace 
fichu,  to  the  destruction  of  its  carefully 
laid  folds. 

"  Polly,  your  father  would  not  listen 
to  such  a  thing  for  a  moment,"  he  jerked 
out,  getting  very  red  in  the  face. 

"  But  he  won't  have  to  ;  he  never  need 
know  a  \vord  about  it  !  "  Alas,  that  was 


21  Surrender  263 

a  line  of  reasoning  that  struck  a  respon 
sive  chord. 

"  But  Polly  would  never  consent." 
"That's    the   beauty   of    it!      She's 
safely  out  of  the  way." 

''And  Mrs.  Daymond,— she  would  be 
shocked,  I  am  sure,"  and  his  fine  color 
faded  with  consternation. 

' '  Not  if  she  never  knows  it  !  " 
"But  I  shall  know  it,"  he  protested, 
faintly.  Then,  gathering  himself  together 
for  a  last  effort :  "No,  Polly,  I  can  never 
consent.  Never  !  You  understand  !  It  's 
useless  to  talk  about  it  !  "  and  the  Col 
onel  got  upon  his  feet  and  stepped  out 
upon  the  balcony,  breathing  fire  and 
slaughter  to  all  revolutionary  schemes. 
And  then  Polly  knew  that  she  had  won 
the  day.  When  Uncle  Dan  grew  em 
phatic  and  peremptory  it  was  a  sure  sign 
that  he  was  weakening. 

She  followed  him  out  upon  the  balcony, 
and  slipped  her  hand  within  his  arm. 

"  O,  Uncle  Dan,"  she  said,  in  her  most 
insinuating   tone.       "You    haven't   the 


264  B  Venetian  3une 

least  idea  how  I  shall  sing  !  You  never 
heard  anything  so  fine  as  it  will  be.  I 
shall  sing,  so  that  all  the  gondolas  will 
come  gliding  up  to  listen.  And  there 
will  be  the  moon  sailing  up  the  sky,  and 
the  world  will  be  so  big  and  so  dark  that 
I  can  let  my  voice  out  without  a  thought 
of  myself,  and—  O  Uncle  Dan  !  say 
yes!" 

Then  a  slow,  intense  flush  mounted  in 
the  sun-burnt  cheek,  while  a  light  kin 
dled  in  the  eyes,  set  deep  within  the  bushy 
eyebrows.  And  Uncle  Dan  looked  into 
the  ardent  face  beside  him,  and,  before 
he  could  stop  himself,  he  had  exclaimed, 
half  under  his  breath  : 

"Gad,  Polly  !  But  I  should  like  to 
hear  you  !  " 


Serenata. 


j^ROM  the  moment  when  the  Colonel 
J|  made  his  fatal  admission,  his  cause 
was  lost  and  he  knew  it.  He  was  too 
good  a  soldier  to  fight  for  the  sake  of 
fighting,  but  he  was  not  a  little  shocked 
at  the  alacrity  with  which  he  went  over 
to  the  enemy. 

Yet  the  step  was  not  an  unprecedented 
one.  It  was  not  for  nothing  that  he  had 
been  for  years  the  willing  slave  of  his 
Pollys,  that  his  whole  training  as  uncle 
had  tended  to  cultivate  in  him  the  grace 
of  obedience.  "As  the  twig  is  bent  the 
tree  inclines,"  and  he  had  been  the  merest 
twig  of  an  uncle,  if  not  in  years,  at  least 
in  experience,  when  he  had  yielded  to  the 
265 


266  B  Venetian  June 


sunny  persuasiveness  of  that  first  faint 
glimmering  of  a  smile  in  the  baby  face 
of  the  original  Polly.  His  subjugation, 
moreover,  having  hitherto  proved  bene 
ficial  in  its  results,  he  was  the  more 
excusable,  to-day,  for  letting  himself 
be  swept  along  by  the  impetus  of  his 
tyrant's  will. 

There  was  little  time  for  reflection  ; 
indeed,  as  it  was,  a  young  person  of  less 
executive  ability  than  May  could  hardly 
have  accomplished  what  she  brought  to 
pass  in  the  few  hours  at  her  disposal. 
She  flew  from  the  Venezia  to  the  Signora 
Canti  for  the  first  unfolding  of  her  plan, 
from  the  almost  speechless  Signora  to  the 
Merceria  in  search  of  the  sulphur  shawl, 
and  thence  to  the  Signora  Canti  again, 
attended  all  the  while  by  Uncle  Dan, 
whose  cane  struck  sharply  011  the  pave 
ment  of  the  narrow,  reverberating  alley 
ways.  The  business  was  all  transacted 
on  foot,  that  even  Vittorio  might  be  kept 
in  ignorance  of  the  great  secret.  Through 
the  good  offices  of  the  Signor  Canti  the 


ZIbe  Serenata  267 

barge  musicians  were  interviewed,  and 
the  details  of  the  undertaking  arranged. 
Even  a  small  rehearsal  was  brought 
about  in  the  somewhat  restricted  quar 
ters  of  the  Canti  apartment,  and  great 
was  May's  rejoicing,  to  find  how  many 
of  her  favorite  songs  were  well-known  to 
the  quartette  of  accompanists. 

As  the  Colonel  looked  back  upon  the 
afternoon,  he  had  a  bewildered  sense  of 
having  taken  part  in  a  general  engage 
ment,  very  brilliant  in  character,  but  with 
the  conduct  of  which  he,  as  private,  had 
had  no  concern  whatever.  And  now  it 
was  evening,  and  he  was  floating  in  the 
gondola  out  on  the  broad  basin  of  St. 
Mark's,  awaiting,  with  no  little  trepida 
tion,  the  progress  of  events. 

No,  his  nieces  would  not  be  with  him, 
he  had  told  Vittorio.  One  was  gone  to 
Torcello,  and  the  other  had  an  engage 
ment  for  the  evening,— which  Vittorio 
thought  pcccato.  The  padrone  proposed 
to  float  about  in  the  moonlight  for  a  while, 
and  listen  to  the  music,  and  this,  at  least, 


268  B  Venetian  5une 

was  bcnissimo,  and  commanded  the  gon 
dolier's  warmest  approval. 

Scarcely  had  Vittorio  been  thus  pacified 

than  the  barge  with  its  dangling  lanterns, 

beneath  which  the  Colonel  had  seen  his 

Polly  safely  ensconced  but  a  few  minutes 

since,  came  floating  out  from  a  narrow 

canal,  and  glided  slowly  along  the  Riva, 

past  the  Royal  Gardens  and  the  Piazzetta, 

to   the    outermost    of    the   great    hotels. 

Sitting  among  the    "  gallant  hominies" 

was  a  figure  in  a  sulphur  shawl,  with  a 

cloud  of  Spanish  lace  about  the  head,  so 

ingeniously   disposed   that    the    features 

were   somewhat   hidden,    yet   apparently 

with  no  intention  of  covering  the  face. 

;'That  looks  like  the  Canti  barge,  Vit 
torio,"  the  Colonel  remarked.  "Let  us 
go  nearer  and  find  out  who  is  to  do  the 
singing.  Do  you  know  the  woman  ?  " 

"  No,  Signore.     It  is  a  stranger,"  Vit 
torio  declared.      "It  is  not  a  Venetian." 
:<  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  " 
"  I  do  not  know  her  face." 
The  sunset  glow  had  quite  faded  from 


tTbe  Serenata  269 


the  sky  and  the  great  disk  of  the  moon 
hung  like  a  luminous  shield  over  beyond 
San  Giorgio.  Its  wonderful  light,  liquid 
and  silvery  as  the  water  of  the  lagoons, 
flooded  their  wide  reaches,  and  touched 
with  a  soft  splendor  each  sculptured 
facade  and  arching  bridge  of  the  Riva, 
and  the  masts  and  hulls  and  loose-reefed 
sails  of  a  group  of  fishing  boats  lying 
close  alongside  the  quay.  Far  up  the 
canal,  a  tenor  voice  could  be  heard, 
strong  and  melodious,  and  stray  gondolas 
were  tending  toward  it. 

Suddenly,  more  than  one  oar  was 
stayed,  and  more  than  one  face  was 
turned  toward  the  Canti  barge.  The 
music  had  begun,  with  a  familiar  Nea 
politan  melody,  in  which  all  the  voices 
and  instruments  took  part.  But  high 
above  them  all  rose  a  clear  soprano,  only 
the  sweeter  and  the  richer  for  the  dull 
rhythm  of  the  lesser  voices.  One  by  one 
the  receding  gondolas  turned  and  came 
nearer,  one  bright  eye  gleaming  at  each 
prow,  as  they  stole  like  conspirators  upon 


27o  B  Venetian  $ime 

the  gaily  lanterned  barge.  And  from  far 
ther  away  still,  from  the  Grand  Canal  and 
from  the  waters  of  the  Giudecca,  black 
barks  came  floating,  aticl  silently  joined 
the  growing  throng.  The  chorus  had 
sung  twice,  thrice,  four  times,— always 
the  popular  airs,  so  familiar,  yet  to-night 
so  new,  by  reason  of  the  lift  and  brilliancy 
of  the  leading  voice. 

One  of  the  men  stepped  across  the 
Colonel's  gondola  and  on  from  one  to 
another,  hat  in  hand.  ' '  Per  la  musica  !  ' ' 
he  entreated,  and  a  goodly  shower  of 
nickles  and  coppers  and  fluttering  lire 
were  gathered  in.  But  still  not  a  gondola 
moved  away,  and  later  comers  had  to  tie 
on  the  outskirts,  spreading  now,  fan- 
shaped,  with  twinkling  eyes,  far  over 
toward  San  Giorgio. 

Uncle  Dan  fell  to  counting  the  twink 
ling  eyes,  and  his  heart  swelled  within 
him.  There  must  be  close  upon  a  hun 
dred  people  here,  drawn  hither,  held  fast, 
by  his  little  Polly.  There  she  stood,  in 
her  sulphur  shawl,  unrecognizable,  to  be 


Serenata  271 

sure,  but  natural  and  self-possessed  as  if 
she  had  been  singing  in  her  own  parlor. 

Somebody  called  for  Gordigiani's  O 
Santissima  Vergine—z.  favorite  song  of 
"la  Canti."  The  singer  rose  again  to 
her  feet.  The  low,  pulsing  accompani 
ment  sounded  on  the  strings,  and  presently 
the  voice  began,  with  a  softly  vibrating 
tone,  different  from  the  resonant  quality 
which  had  first  attracted  the  listeners. 
"  O  Santissima  Vcrgine  Maria  !  " 
"I  told  you  it  was  a  trained  voice," 
Uncle  Dan  heard  someone  say  in  a  neigh 
boring  gondola.  ' '  I  believe  she  '  s  a  stage 
singer.  Just  listen  to  that ! ' ' 

"  Hush,  don't  talk  ! ' '  the  answer  came. 
"  It 's  the  sweetest  thing  I  ever  heard." 

And  in  truth  a  delicate,  penetrating 
pathos  had  come  into  the  fresh  young 
voice,  pleading  so  melodiously  for  the  life 
of  "  mio  ben." 

"O  Maria,  O  Maria,"  was  the  artless 
supplication  ;  "  I  vow  to  give  to  thee  the 
ring  my  mother  bought  for  me  four  years 
ao-o,  and  the  coral  necklace,  tan  to  bcllo  !  ' ' 


272  B  IDeitetfan  5une 


And  then,  with  simple  fervor,  the  Ma 
donna  was  assured  that,  would  she  but 
save  il  poverino,  a  candle  should  be  burned 
to  her  every  Saturday,  —  "  ogni  Sabbato, 
Mar  iay  Maria  !  " 

As  the  last  note  ceased,  sweet  and  sad, 
on  the  night  air,  a  burst  of  applause 
went  up,  and,  ''encore,  encore,'"  the  /or- 
estieri  shouted,  "encore!"  And  other 
gondolas  came  gliding  up,  and  the  spread 
ing  fan  stretched  in  ever  widening  com 
pass,  divided  now,  like  the  pinions  of  a 
great  sable  bird  studded  with  dots  of 
light.  Then,  while  the  flowing  moon 
light  brightened,  and  a  perfumed  breeze 
came  wafted  over  the  water  from  the  rose 
gardens  of  the  Giudecca,  the  sweet  voice 
again  took  up  the  simple  and  touching 
strain. 

After  that  it  was  an  ovation,  —  "  an 
ovation,  I  tell  you,"  Uncle  Dan  would 
declare,  when  bragging  about  it  to  the 
other  Polly.  "  Why  the  people  were 
perfectly  carried  off  their  feet  !  When 
the  hat  went  round  they  didn't  know 


Gbe  Serenata  273 


what  it  was  they  pulled  out  of  their  pock 
ets.  A  ten-franc  piece  seemed  cheap  as 
a  copper.  And  all  the  time,  Polly,  stand 
ing  there,  singing  her  heart  out  !  It  was 
an  ovation,  I  tell  you,— an  ovation  !  " 

And  as  Polly  sang  on  and  on,  light 
opera  airs,  rhythmical  barcarolles,  songs 
of  the  people,  with  their  naive,  swinging 
cadence,  a  new,  exultant  sense  of  power 
seemed  lifting  her  above  her  own  level. 

And  presently  an  inspiration  seized 
her,  and,  leaning  forward,  she  said  to 
Canti  :  "  Make  them  row  out  on  the 
lagoon,  toward  the  Lido  ;  I  can  sing 
better  there." 

Then  the  barge  loosed  itself  from  the 
clinging  gondolas,  and  slowly  glided  out 
and  away.  And  all  the  gondolas  fol 
lowed,  with  the  soft  plash  of  many  oars, 
on  and  on,  after  the  swinging  lanterns 
and  the  syren  voice. 

To  the  young  girl,  borne  out  of  herself 
into  a  strange,  unimagined  experience  of 
beauty  and  harmony  and  power,  into  a 
newly  awakened  sympathy,  too,  with 


274  B  Venetian  3-une 


each  dreamer  and  lover  and  mourner 
whose  lay  she  sang,  it  was  as  if  old  things 
had  passed  away  and  all  things  were 
become  new.  And  presently,  as  they 
drifted  on  in  the  flooding  moonlight, 
leaving  the  lights  of  the  city  behind  them, 
she  could  see  the  small,  low  glimmer  of 
a  gondola-lamp  gliding  from  out  the 
mysterious  spaces  of  the  lagoon. 

At  that  moment  Canti  whispered  a 
request  that  the  Signorina  would  sing 
"  Patria"  Tito  Mattei's  beautiful  song 
of  exile.  She  consented,  with  a  feeling 
of  awe,  as  if  acting  in  obedience  to  some 
higher  compulsion.  The  barge  had 
paused,  and  the  multitudinous  plash  of 
oars  was  hushed  as  she  began  to  sing  : 

"  Almiociel  m'ha  tolto  ilfato." 
["  Fate  has  torn  me  from  my  own  skies."] 

The  vagrant  gondola  had  come  nearer, 
and  now  it  was  drawn  close  up  under  the 
bow  of  the  barge,  just  on  the  edge  of  the 
throng  of  boats.  The  Signorina  scarcely 


tTbe  Serenata  275 


needed  to  glance  at  the  oarsman,  stand 
ing  in  the  full  light  of  the  lanterns,  to 
know  that  it  was  no  other  than  the  exile 
whose  lament  it  had  been  given  her  to 
sing.  Yet,  as  the  song  ceased  for  a  mo 
ment,  while  the  strings  played  an  inter 
lude  in  full,  strongly  vibrating  chords, 
she  looked  involuntarily  toward  the  fig 
ure  whose  identity  she  was  already  so 
curiously  aware  of.  The  man  made  a 
movement  forward,  resting  on  his  oar, 
and,  as  their  eyes  met,  she  knew  that  he, 
too,  had  recognised  her.  She  turned 
away,  as  the  song  recommenced,  but  the 
consciousness  of  what  she  had  seen  was 
vividly  present  with  her.  He  knew  her, 
he  knew  that  she  was  singing  for  him, 
that  she  was  singing  the  song  of  his 
exile. 

A  singular,  almost  fantastical  exalta 
tion  took  possession  of  the  young  girl, 
an  exaltation  such  as  might  have  pos 
sessed  itself  of  a  priestess  of  old,  pouring 
a  libation  to  the  gods  in  behalf  of  some 
devout  suppliant.  He  had  known  her, 


276  B  Venetian 


this  mysterious,  homeless  being  that  had 
come  floating  across  the  waters  to  hear 
the  song  of  his  exile.  A  deep,  thrilling 
emotion  lifted  her  on  its  crest,  as  the 
long,  slow,  elemental  rhythm  of  the 
ocean  had  lifted  the  frail  shell  of  the 
gondola,  far  out  at  the  Porto  del  Lido, 
such  a  life-time  ago.  But  now  she  did 
not  shrink  from  it,  she  was  not  discon 
certed  by  it.  She  only  sang  on,  with 
growing  passion  and  power.  Every 
thing  small  and  personal  seemed  swept 
away.  She  felt  herself  a  human  crea 
ture,  singing  the  needs  and  aspirations 
of  another  human  creature.  She  was 
alive,  she  had  come  into  her  birth 
right.  This  man,  whose  personality 
had  so  haunted  and  harassed  her,  was 
no  longer  an  enigma ;  she  no  longer 
commiserated  him.  What  mattered  pov 
erty,  suffering,  exile  ?  To  be  alive  was 
enough  ;  to  have  la  patria,  or  any  other 
great  and  high  thought  in  the  soul  was 
infinitely  more  than  any  mere  presence 
or  possession. 


Serenata  277 

All  this  was  coursing  through  her 
mind,  and  the  spirit  of  it  was  entering 
into  her  song,  with  an  urgency  and 
power  that  gave  it  a  really  extraordinary 
dramatic  force.  The  last  words 

"  Dolce  patria  e  il  cor  con  tc, 
Dolce  patria  £  il  cor  con  te  !  " 

rang  out  with  an  impassioned  brilliancy 
of  tone  that  took  the  listeners  by  storm. 

As  the  singer  sank  upon  her  seat,  not 
spent  by  the  effort,  but  rather  absorbed 
with  the  new  thoughts  and  emotions  that 
were  crowding  upon  her,  the  clapping  of 
many  hands  sounded  to  her  remote  and 
meaningless,  and  she  did  not  even  notice 
that  the  solitary  gondola  had  slipped  away. 

Canti  feared  that  she  was  really  ex 
hausted.  "It  is  enough,  Signorina," 
he  said  ;  "we  will  go  home." 

As  the  barge  turned,  the  gondolas 
made  way  for  it,  and  then  they  pressed 
about  it  again,  to  offer  more  money  and 
more.  There  was  110  longer  any  need 
of  passing  the  hat. 


273  a  Denetian  Sune 

And    May  felt  that  she    had  finished, 
that  it  was  enough.     She  sat  very  still, 
the  folds  of  the  black  lace  almost  cover 
ing  her  face,  as   they  rowed   homeward 
to   chorus    after   chorus   of  gay  songs  : 
"La    bclla,    Napoli"      " Funicoll  funi- 
cola,"    "  Margherita."     She  experienced 
no  painful  reaction  ;  she  was  filled  with 
an  up-lifting  sense  of  successful  achieve 
ment.      And   her    thoughts   had   turned 
almost  immediately  to  the  poor  Signora 
in  whose  behalf  all  this  had  been  done. 
They  must   have   taken  a  great   deal 
of   money,     May    thought,— a    hundred 
francs,— perhaps  more.     Enough  to  pur 
chase  a  long  respite  for  the  over-worked 
singer.     Perhaps   by   the  time  the  poor 
thing   was   obliged   to    sing   again,    she 
would   have  grown  so  strong  and  well, 
that  her  voice,  too,  would  be  fresh  and 
pure,  and  she  would  have  the  unspeak 
able  joy  of  singing   because   she   could 
not  help  it. 

May  remembered    the    expression   of 
the  great  Italian  eyes,  set  in  the  haggard 


Serenata  279 

face,  as  the  woman  had  said  to  her  : 
"The  Madonna  will  bless  you,  Sig- 
norina  !  "  Yes,  she  had  a  soul,  the  poor 
Signora,  hard-pressed  and  starved,  but 
a  soul,  all  the  same.  May  smiled  softly 
to  herself,  almost  as  Pauline  might  have 
done. 

"  Funicoll  fnnicola!"  the  chorus  was 
singing— the  colored  lanterns  were  bob 
bing   with   the   stroke   of  the  oars,  and 
all  the  while  the  young  girl  was  passing 
in  review  the  people  she  knew,  and  won 
dering  to   discover   how   many  of  them 
were   possessed    of    souls!      There    was 
Uncle  Dan  and  Pauline,  and  Mrs.  Day- 
mond,    and,    surely  Vittorio,    with    his 
fine,  manly  spirit,  and  his  childlike  faith. 
They  all  had  souls,  each  after  his  kind  ; 
they  all  had  a  comprehension    of  some 
thing  not   visible    and   material.     What 
a  wonderful  thing  life  was !     She  could 
not  grasp  it  yet,  but  somehow,  in  some 
mysterious  wise,  the  world  was  changed  ; 
—not    the    moonlit    world    of    romance 
alone,  but  the  great  day-lighted  world, 


280 


Venetian 


where  people  suffered  and  rejoiced    and 
grew  strong. 

And  just  as  the  barge  came  opposite 
the  glittering  lights  of  the  Piazzetta, 
beyond  and  above  which  the  luminous 
shaft  of  the  campanile  rose  straight  and 
white,  tipped  with  its  golden  angel,  the 
men  began  to  sing  "Santa  Lucia."  And 
once  more  a  voice  rose  above  the  others, 
fresh  and  clear  as  ever  ; 

"  Sul  mare  luccica 

L  'astro  d  ^argento  ; 
PlacidaZ  Tonda 

bero  il  vento." 


And,  as  the  bobbing  lanterns  disap 
peared  down  a  black  side-canal,  the 
ringing  voice  echoed  still  from  out  the 
darkness ; 

"  Santa  Lucia,  Santa  Lucia  /  " 


SHOULD  not  so  much  mind  if 
—  there  should  be  no  moon  to 
night,"  said  May,  dipping  her  hand 
over  the  side  of  the  boat,  to  feel  the 
cool,  soft  wash  of  the  wave. 

"  Nothing  could  be  lovelier  than  this," 
Pauline  assented. 

It  was  evening  again  and  the  girls  had 
the  gondola  to  themselves.  They  were 
skirting  the  low  shore  of  the  Lido,  fra 
grant  with  the  breath  of  new-mown  hay, 
vocal  with  the  chirp  of  crickets  and  the 
dull,  rhythmic  thud  of  the  waves  upon 
the  beach.  The  sky  was  overcast  and 
the  water  was  dark,  save  just  ahead, 
281 


282  H  Venetian  5une 

where  the  gondola  light  cast  a  pale  reflec 
tion,  wavering  softly  from  side  to  side, 
with  the  motion  of  the  courtesying  prow. 
The  twin  towers  of  San  Servolo,  its  mas 
sive  buildings  and  sparse  lights,  had  been 
left  behind,  and  now  the  gondola  was 
approaching  San  I^azzaro,  wrapped  in 
silence  and  shadow,  like  the  good  monks 
who  pace  its  quiet  paths. 

Neither  of  the  girls  had  felt  inclined 
to  talk,  yet  their  sense  of  mutual  com 
panionship  was  peculiarly  near  and  inti 
mate.  Both  had  been  absorbed  in  the 
memory  of  the  same  stirring  scene,  and 
though  Pauline  had  only  viewed  it  from 
the  outskirts  she  had  divined  something 
of  the  nature  of  her  sister's  experience. 
She  felt  intuitively  that  it  had  been  more 
to  the  young  girl  than  a  gratification  of 
vanity,  or  even  a  revelation  of  her  own 
power.  And  yet  in  their  overt  considera 
tion  of  the  great  event,  they  had  dwelt, 
hitherto,  more  particularly  upon  its  prac 
tical  aspects, — the  reticence  and  courtesy 
of  the  band  of  musicians,  the  really  con- 


283 


siderable  sum  of  money  taken,  the  hun 
dred-franc  piece  which  had  appeared  in 
the  receipts,  and  Uncle  Dan's  studied 
innocence  in  connection  therewith.  The 
fact  that  May  had  escaped  recognition  had 
also  been  regarded  as  cause  for  rejoicing. 

May  had  been  glad  to  find  that,  un 
known  to  her,  her  sister  had  been  among 
the  audience.  Her  presence  seemed,  in 
retrospective  wise,  to  sanction  and  sustain 
her  action.  If  Pauline  was  there  all  was 
well. 

As  they  glided  tranquilly  along  the  line 
of  the  fragrant  shore,  the  regular  dip  of 
the  oar  marking  the  passage  of  the  sec 
onds,  like  the  soft,  lisping  tick  of  certain 
pleasant  old  clocks,  the  nine-o'clock  gun 
roared  its  admonition  from  the  deck  of 
the  ' '  guardian  of  the  port, ' '  and  the  bells 
of  San  Lazzaro  jangled  sweetly  on  the 
night  air.  And  then  it  was  that  May 
roused  to  the  need  of  speech. 

"And  you  knew  me  at  once?"  she 
asked, — not  for  the  first  time  indeed,  for 
that  was  a  very  vital  question. 


284  B  Venetian  5une 

"Yes,  I  knew  your  voice,  and  when 
we  came  a  little  nearer  I  knew  the  way 
you  held  your  head." 

"  And  you  did  n't  mind?  " 

"No;  I  think,  myself,  it's  rather 
strange  that  I  did  not.  But  it  seemed 
perfectly  natural  and  right.  I  believe  I 
took  it  all  in  from  the  first  moment  • — 
just  how  you  had  undertaken  it  for  the 
sake  of  the  poor  Signora,  and  how  then 
you  had  forgotten  the  Signora  and  for 
gotten  yourself." 

They  were  silent  again,  while  the  gon 
dola  rounded  San  I^azzaro  and  turned 
toward  home. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  thought  of 
while  I  was  listening  to  you?"  Pauline 
asked,  as  the  lights  of  the  Riva  appeared 
in  their  line  of  vision,  glimmering  re 
motely  on  the  shore  and  in  the  water. 
"Especially  when  you  were  singing  that 
glorious  Patria?  I  thought  of  what 
Signer  Firenzo  said  about  your  voice,  and 
of  what  you  said  yourself,  that  first  day 
in  Venice, — about  finding  a  soul  here." 


Searcb^Xicibts  285 


''You  did?"  May  exclaimed;  then, 
in  a  lower  voice  :  "  So  did  I  !  " 

They  had  passed  San  Lazzaro,  and  San 
Servolo  too  was  receding  astern  of  them 
before  May  spoke  again. 

"Pauline,"  she  queried,  presently: 
"Did  you  see  Nanni's  gondola  come  up 
from  out  the  lagoon  in  front  of  us?  " 

"  Yes,  I  .saw  it.  How  ghostly  it  was, 
with  his  solitary  figure,  and  then  that 
tragic  face  of  his  in  the  light  of  the 
lanterns  !  " 

Suddenly,  as  she  spoke,  a  broad  beam 
of  white  light  swept  the  long  line  of  the 
Riva,  and  leapt  to  the  point  of  the  cam 
panile,  striking  the  golden  angel  into 
instantaneous  brilliancy. 

"What's  that?"  cried  Pauline,  star 
tled  at  the  suddenness  of  the  apparition. 

"  It's  a  search-light,"  May  answered. 
' '  See  !  It  comes  from  the  man-of-war  over 
by  Sant'  EHsabetta.  There  !  Look  there  ! ' ' 

The  light  had  dropped  from  the  cam 
panile,  and  now  it  shone  full  upon  the 
masts  and  rigging  of  an  Bast  Indiaman 


236  B  Venetian  5une 

lying  off  San  Giorgio  Maggiore.  Each 
rope  and  spar  stood  out  in  the  intense 
white  light,  distinct  as  if  cased  in  ice. 

"  La  luce  elettrica"  Vittorio  observed, 
unable  to  suppress  his  pride  in  this  new 
sensation  furnished  for  the  delectation  of 
his  Signorinas. 

"  Pauline,"  said  May,  with    grave  em 
phasis  ;   "  Nanni  knew  me." 
"  You  are  sure  ?  " 

"Perfectly.  I  saw  it  in  his  face,— 
and,  besides,  that  is  all  he  could  have 
meant  by  his  message.  You  did  n't  hear 
that,  did  you?" 

"  No  ;  and  he  left  you  a  message  ?  " 
"Yes;  when    we   landed  at     Quattro 
Fontane   this   morning,    and   found    Mr. 
Daymond  there— did  you  notice  that  he 
seemed  to  have  something  to  say  to  me  ? ' ' 
'  Yes  ; — I  noticed." 
"  He   wanted  to  tell   me  that  he  had 
been  walking  on  the  beach  with  Nanni, 
and  that  Nanni  had  gone  back  to  Milan 
and  had  left  a  message  for  me." 
"And  the  message  ?  ' ' 


Searcb^Xigbts  287 


"  The  message  was,—'  addio  e  grazie  !  ' 
Don't  you  see?  He  was  thanking  me 
for  the  singing.  I  think  he  knew  that  I 
was  singing  for  him." 

The  light  had  sprung  to  the  tower  of 
San  Giorgio,  whose  straight  shaft  stood 
out  in  new  intensity  of  martial  red,  its 
golden  angel  gleaming  like  a  belated  echo 
of  the  angel  of  the  campanile. 

"Singing  for  him  ?  "  Pauline  repeated, 
yet  as  if  she  already  half  understood. 

"Yes,  the  song  of  exile.  It  was  just 
then  that  he  came  up.  I  'm  sure  he  knew 
that  I  was  thinking  of  him  as  I  sang,  for 
there  was  a  look  in  his  face  that  I  shall 
never  forget." 

"Tell  me  why,  dear." 

"  Yes  ;  I  will  tell  you  why,  though  it's 
rather  a  long  story,"  May  answered, 
yielding  to  an  imperative  need  of  confes 
sion.  "I  can't  quite  account  for  it  all, 
but,  up  to  last  night,  I  had  always  felt 
perplexed  and  disturbed  about  the  man. 
He  made  me  feel  a  great  many  things  I 
had  never  felt  before.  It  seemed  to  me 


288  ft  tDenetian 


as  if  I  had  never  before  known  a  single 
thing  about — anything  real, — about  any 
human  creature  but  myself.  And  yet  I 
suppose  the  very  reason  why  this  haunted 
me  so  was  because  I  did  not  understand. 
I  felt  always  that  there  was  a  mystery, 
something  I  could  n't  get  hold  of, — and 
you  know  how  I  do  hate  a  mystery." 

As  May  forced  her  thoughts  to  take 
shape,  she  felt  that  it  was  her  own  mind 
rather  than  Pauline's  that  was  being  en 
lightened.  It  was  as  if  Pauline  must  un 
derstand, — as  if  it  were  Pauline  who  was 
making  things  clear  to  her.  Yet  Pauline 
did  not  say  a  word.  She  only  listened, 
her  head  inclined  a  bit,  her  eyes  intent 
and  comprehending. 

"  I  think/'  May  went  on,  "  I  think  it 
must  have  been  something  really  high 
and  fine  in  him  that  made  the  sordidness 
of  it  all  seem  so  intolerable.  I  suppose  it 
is  as  Uncle  Dan  says  ; — these  things  are  a 
matter  of  race.  I  think  Nanni  must  have 
more  than  his  share  of  the  family  inherit 
ance.  Did  you  never  feel  it,  Pauline?  " 


Searcb^Xigbts 


"  Yes,  there  was  certainly  something 
impressive  about  him,"  Pauline  admitted. 

"  I  'm  glad  you  thought  so,  too.  Well, 
do  you  know,  Pauline,  it  came  to  me 
last  night  like  a  revelation,  that  I  had 
been  all  wrong  and  morbid  about  it.  I 
remembered  how  he  had  said  to  me,  one 
day  when  I  was  talking  to  him  about 
coming  back  to  Venice  :  '  You  mistake 
me  and  my  life,  Signorina.'  It  did  not 
impress  me  so  much  at  the  time— some 
thing  drove  it  out  of  my  head  ; — but, 
suddenly,  as  I  saw  his  face  last  night,  I 
seemed  to  understand  what  he  meant." 

They  were  passing  near  two  fishing- 
boats  moored  to  a  cluster  of  piles,  a  single 
deck-light  shining  clear  and  steady,  re 
flected  in  the  water  like  a  long  yellow  fin 
ger.  The  men  had  deserted  the  boats  and 
were  swimming  somewhere  out  of  sight 
in  the  darkness,  their  voices  sounding 
curiously  near  and  distinct  across  the 
water. 

"  I  suppose  it  was  the  song  that 
touched  him,"  May  was  saying.  "  It  is 


29°  B  tDenetfan  $une 


such  a.  beautiful  song,  and  the  moment  I 
began  singing,  I  felt  as  if  it  had  been 
written  expressly  for  him.  Pauline,  he 
had  a  look  such  as  a  man  might  have 
who  was  facing  a  great  renunciation,  with 
the  spirit  of  a  hero.  And  it  came  to  me 
like  a  flash,  that  a  man  who  could  look 
like  that  need  not  mind  where  he  lived, 
or  what  his  service  was.  And  when  I 
heard  to-day  that  he  had  gone  back  to  his 
work,  I  was  not  at  all  surprised,  and  I 
was  not  even  sorry  for  him,  as  I  should 
have  been  yesterday.  I  felt  as  if  I  under 
stood." 

May  had  been  speaking  fast,  with  an 
eager,  half  questioning  manner,  as  if 
everything  depended  upon  Pauline's 
agreeing  with  her.  Now  she  paused, 
and  looked  into  her  sister's  face,  close 
beside  her  in  the  dim  light.  And  Pau 
line  returned  her  look  with  one  that  set 
her  heart  at  rest. 

"  I  think  you  have  discovered  some 
thing  very  deep  and  true,"  she  said, 
gently.  "  And  it  is  one  of  those  things 


291 


that  nobody  can  tell  us,  that  we  must  dis 
cover  for  ourselves.  But,  May,"  she 
added,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  "I 
don't  believe  we  need  think  of  the  man's 
work  as  mean  or  sordid.  I  should  think 
it  might  be  a  very  valuable  sort  of  service 
that  he  renders  at  the  hospital.  Do  you 
remember  that  day,  the  first  week  we 
were  here,  when  we  were  waiting  for  the 
sacristan  at  the  Madonna  del  Orto,  and  a 
little  girl  on  the  quay  fell  down  and  hurt 
her  arm  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes  ;  I  remember, — and  how  quickly 
Nanni  sprang  ashore  and  picked  her  up." 

"Well; — do  you  know,  May,  there 
was  something  in  the  way  he  bent  over 
the  little  thing  and  examined  her  arm  to 
see  if  it  were  really  hurt,  that  impressed 
me  very  much.  His  touch  was  so  gentle, 
and  there  was  so  much  intelligence  in  the 
way  he  did  it,  that  I  have  thought,  ever 
since,  what  a  blessing  it  must  be  to  have 
such  a  man  about  in  a  hospital." 

"Yes,"  said  May,  thoughtfully,— 
"perhaps  that  is  why  he  chooses  that 


292  B  Venetian 


life.  That  would  explain  a  great  deal. 
I  am  glad  you  reminded  me  of  it,  Pau 
line," — and  again  she  reached  her  arm 
over  the  side  of  the  boat,  and  let  the  cool 
water  slip  through  her  fingers,  watching 
the  little  ripple  they  made  upon  the  sur 
face.  ' '  Perhaps  that  was  what  Mr.  Day- 
mond  meant  when  he  said  he  had  had  a 
talk  with  Nanni,  and  he  did  not  think  that 
I  need  have  any  more  anxiety  about  him, 
— that  he  was  doing  the  work  he  could  do 
best,  and  that  he  was  happy  in  doing  it. ' ' 

"  And  you  had  told  Mr.  Daymond,  be 
fore  that,  that  you  were  disturbed  about 
it?"  Pauline  asked,  with  a  swift,  un 
controllable  contraction  of  the  heart. 

"  Yes  ;  we  had  a  talk  about  Nanni  the 
evening  of  the  illumination.  Pauline," 
May  exclaimed,  with  a  sudden  change  of 
tone,  "  what  a  waste  it  is  that  that  nice 
fellow  has  n't  any  sisters  !  " 

"Who?  Mr.  Daymond?" 

"  Yes  ;  he  would  make  such  a  perfect 
brother.  He  is  so  dear,  and  good,  and — 
iinromantic  !  " 


293 


As  the  words  fell,  crisp  and  incisive  on 
the  still  night  air,  their  point  and  mean 
ing  piercing  like  finely  tempered  steel  to 
Pauline's  innermost  consciousness,  the 
search-light  flashed  out  again,  striking 
full  upon  the  Salute.  For  a  fleeting  in 
stant  the  glorious  dome  curved  white  and 
luminous  against  a  lowering  sky,  vanish 
ing  again  as  the  light  was  withdrawn. 
Pauline  caught  her  breath,  and  the  blood 
raced  through  her  veins.  She  was  star 
tled,  she  assured  herself,  by  the  sudden 
ness  of  the  flash. 

When  she  spoke,  her  voice  was  tranquil 
as  ever,  yet  curiously  shot  through  with 
feeling. 

"  If  Geoffry  Daymond  told  you  that," 
she  said,  "I  think  you  may  feel  sat 
isfied." 

"I  do,"  May  answered,  noting  with 
surprise  that  her  sister  had  given  Geoffry 
Daymond  his  full  name  ; — it  was  not  Pau 
line's  way.  "Yes,  I  do,"  she  repeated, 
"  it  is  a  great  relief." 

It  was  only  for  a  moment  that  Pauline's 


294  B  IDenetfan  $une 

interest  in  her  sister's  story  had  wavered. 
She  had  listened,  and  with  unerring  com 
prehension,  thanks  to  which  she  had  not 
been  misled  as  another  might  have  been. 

' '  There  comes  the  moon  out  of  the 
clouds, ' '  she  exclaimed.  ' '  Take  us  where 
we  can  see  the  moon,  Vittorio. " 

"Si,  Signorina." 

They  had  come  opposite  the  Salute, 
and  now  the  prow  of  the  gondola  turned 
in  at  the  narrow  rio  that  runs  between 
the  great  church  and  the  lovely  old  Ab- 
bazia  of  San  Gregorio.  There  were  de 
serted  gondolas  and  other  craft  moored  at 
one  side  of  the  little  canal,  and  as  they 
pushed  their  way  past  them,  the  oar 
lapped  the  water  with  the  peculiar  sound 
it  makes  in  passing  through  a  restricted 
passage.  They  glided  under  a  low  bridge, 
beyond  which  the  moon  appeared,  just 
issuing  from  a  bank  of  cloud,  and,  a  mo 
ment  later,  they  had  floated  out  into  the 
Giudecca,  among  the  tall  black  hulls  of 
the  shipping,  lying  there  at  anchor. 

' '  How   good   and   genuine   the   moon 


295 


looks  after  those  search-lights  !  "  May 
exclaimed,  with  a  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

''Yes,  but  they  were  a  wonderful 
sight,"  Pauline  maintained. 

"  Perhaps  so  ;  but  they  were  artificial, 
and  one  does  like  things  to  be  natural." 

They  had  rowed  the  length  of  the  Giu- 
decca,  watching  the  moon's  vicissitudes 
among  the  clouds,  and  now  they  had  once 
more  turned  toward  home,  making  their 
way  through  one  of  the  prettiest  rios  of 
the  Tolentini  quarter. 

"I  suppose,"  Pauline  remarked,  as 
they  came  out  upon  the  Grand  Canal, 
"that,  in  a  deep  sense,  artificial  things, 
— of  the  good  kind, — are  just  as  natural 
as  things  we  have  no  control  over.  I 
suppose  we  get  our  search-lights  from 
Nature,  only  in  a  more  round-about 
way." 

"Perhaps  we  do,"  May  replied  ;  add 
ing,  with  apparent  irrelevance,  "and 
I'm  not  sure  that  I  should  be  willing 
to  have  missed  it." 


296  21  Venetian  3ime 


That  .same  evening,  in  the  fever  ward 
of  a  Milan  hospital,  two  figures  were 
standing  beside  a  narrow  cot  in  earnest 
consultation.  The  patient  was  a  child  of 
ten.  The  little  face  had  the  look  of  many 
another  little  fever-stricken  face,  but  the 
hair  that  lay  tossed  upon  the  pillow  was 
of  exceptional  beauty. 

"Can  we  save  her,  Signor  Dottore?" 
It  was  the  nun  who  spoke. 

11  We  must,"  the  doctor  answered,  with 
quiet  emphasis. 

He  stooped  and  lifted  in  his  hand  one 
of  the  disordered  tresses.  It  was  neither 
blonde  nor  auburn,  but  pure  gold,  the 
lovely  gold  that  sometimes  shines  in  the 
heart  of  the  sunset.  Bven  the  nun  felt 
the  beauty  of  it. 

' '  Did  you  ever  see  such  hair  as  that  ?  ' ' 
she  asked. 

He  laid  the  tress  back  upon  the  pillow, 
very  gently,  and,  looking  into  the  quiet 
eyes  of  the  sister,  he  answered  : 

'  *  Never  but  once. ' ' 


m 


Decus  et 


'HE  search -lights 
of  that  evening's 
talk  had  betrayed  more 
to  Pauline  Beverly 
than  the  transitory 
trouble  of  her  sister's 
mind.  In  vain  did  she 
try  to  dwell  only  upon 
what  May  had  told  her, 
upon  the  awakening  of 
imagination  and  feel 
ing  that  had  been  re 
vealed  in  the  clear  depths 
of  that  singularly  limpid  nature.  Unlike 
as  the  sisters  were,  they  were  yet  of  closely 
kindred  fibre,  and  no  one  but  Pauline 
could  have  so  clearly  apprehended  or  so 
justly  gauged  the  true  significance  of  the 
experience  which  the  young  girl  herself 
297 


298  21  Venetian  5une 


had  found  so  perplexing.  Yet  because 
Pauline  so  well  understood  it,  the  thought 
of  it  did  not  wholly  possess  her  mind,  and 
she  could  not  escape  an  unwilling  cogniz 
ance  of  something  deeper  and  far  more 
disquieting,  that  she  had  caught  a  glimpse 
of  in  her  own  soul. 

There  was  nothing  of  the  repellant  re 
serve  in  Pauline's  character  which  makes 
itself  evident  to  the  chance  acquaintance. 
If  she  was  innately  reticent,  it  was  in  a 
deep,  still  wise,  to  the  exclusion  some 
times  of  her  own  consciousness, — and  it 
was  "this  inner  reticence  that  had  been 
violated. 

In  the  succeeding  hours  of  the  night, 
her  mind  recurred  many  times  to  that 
sudden  vision  of  the  Salute  dome,  flash 
ing,  white  and  luminous  upon  a  shadowy 
background.  It  had  been  the  apparition 
of  an  instant,  and  3ret  it  was  so  clearly 
imaged  on  her  brain,  even  now,  that  every 
slightest  detail  stood  out  in  her  memory, 
distinct  as  in  the  light  of  day.  And  si 
multaneously  with  that,  a  search-light  had 


5>ecus  et  ipraesifcium  "          299 


flashed  upon  the  hidden  places  of  her  own 
soul,  and  she  had  had  a  vision  which  she 
knew  that  no  veil  of  reserve,  impenetrable 
though  it  might  be,  could  annul.  The 
night  had  fallen  upon  the  Salute  and 
wrapped  it  from  sight,  but  was  it  the  less 
real  for  that  ? 

In  the  first  dawning  light,  she  got  up, 
and,  throwing  on  a  loose  gown  of  soft, 
pink  cashmere,  she  stepped  out  upon  the 
balcony  to  get  a  breath  of  air.  She  did 
not  look  toward  the  Salute  ;  something 
withheld  her  from  doing  so,  as  if  it  had 
involved  a  self-betrayal  which  she  shrank 
from.  She  turned,  instead,  to  the  East, 
where,  rising  pale,  but  distinct,  against 
the  faint  rosy  flush  of  the  sky,  was  the 
tower  and  dome  of  San  Pietro  di  Castello. 
A  single  star  still  pricked  through  the 
deepening  color,  but,  as  she  looked,  it 
vanished.  The  dip  of  an  oar,  that  sound 
that  never  ceases,  night  nor  day,  on  the 
great  thoroughfare  of  Venice,  reached 
her  ear,  and  a  bird  chirped  in  the  garden. 
Bach  suggestion  came  to  her,  isolated  and 


300  B  Venetian  $une 

delicately  individualized  :  the  star,  the 
oar-dip,  the  bird-note.  She  felt  herself 
played  upon,  like  a  passive  instrument,  as 
if  a  light  hand  had  just  touched  one  vi 
brating  string  and  another,  careless  of 
definite  melody. 

The  color  in  the  East  deepened  to  a 
wonderful  rose,  against  which  the  tower 
and  dome  of  San  Pietro  stood  out  in 
purest  dove-color,  and  more  birds  chirped, 
and  one  burst  into  a  little  gush  of  song. 
Pauline,  standing  on  her  high  balcony, 
wrapped  in  the  soft  cashmere,  whose  rosy 
color  seemed  a  reflection  of  the  dawn, 
felt  herself,  in  some  peculiar  sense  a  par 
taker  in  that  exquisite  awakening  ;  and, 
in  truth,  the  surface  of  the  water  was  not 
more  sensitive  to  the  growing  wonder 
than  the  delicately  expressive  face,  turned 
still  to  the  Bast.  Not  until  the  sun  had 
fairly  risen,  and  swept  the  color  from  the 
face  of  the  sky,  did  she  look  toward  the 
Salute.  There  it  stood,  beautiful  and 
strong  and  invulnerable,  but  behind  it 
were  dark  rain-clouds,  heaped  high  and 
threatening. 


«  S>ecus  ct  ipraestoium  "          301 

Then  Pauline  moved  away,  with  a  feel 
ing  of  assured  strength  and  peace.  She 
could  not  account  for  it,  she  could  not 
have  denned  it  ;  she  only  felt  as  if  she 
had  come  face  to  face  with  a  great  expe 
rience,  whether  of  joy  or  sorrow  she 
could  not  tell, — but  whatever  its  counte 
nance  she  felt  serenely  ready  to  meet  it. 

She  slept  a  deep,  peaceful  sleep  after 
that,  nor  did  her  mind  misgive  her  when 
she  awoke  again,  to  find  that  those  threat 
ening  clouds  had  taken  possession  of  the 
sky,  and  were  drenching  the  world  with 
rain. 

They  went  to  the  Belle  Arti  that  morn 
ing,  Pauline  and  May  and  Uncle  Dan, 
their  faithful  squire.  Vittorio  took  them 
there  in  the  hooded  gondola,  himself 
radiant  in  a  new  "  impermeable "  hat 
and  coat,  which  gave  him  the  appearance 
of  a  gigantic  wet  seal,  swaying  genially 
on  its  supple  tail. 

As  they  looked  out  from  the  shelter  of 
the  fclzc,  more  impermeable  than  many 
rubber  coats,  May  observed  that  it  was 
a  terrible  waste  of  opportunities  to  go 


302  £l  Venetian  $une 

about  in  a  fdze  with  a  mere  uncle  and 
sister. 

"  What  do  you  take  it  that  a  fdze  is 
for?  "  asked  Uncle  Dan,  enchanted  with 
her  disparaging  tone. 

"I  suppose  it  was  originally  invented 
for  the  accommodation  of  lovers,"  May 
replied,  with  her  familiar  air  of  scientific 
investigation,  which  caused  Pauline  to 
smile  contentedly. 

"  Other  kinds  of  conspirators  are  said 
to  have  found  it  convenient,"  Uncle  Dan 
observed.  "Thieves  and  cut-throats,  for 
instance.  But  it  strikes  me  as  being  a 
very  good  place  for  an  uncle,  especially 
in  weather  like  this." 

"And  you  Pauline, — what  is  your 
vote  ? ' ' 

"  I  should  think  it  was  a  very  excellent 
place  to  be  in  with  an  uncle,  or — " 

"Or?  " 

' '  Or  anyone  else  one  thought  particu 
larly  well  of,"  and  Pauline  gave  her 
sister  an  appreciative  smile. 

Then  May,  usually  rather  unsusceptible 


"2>ecus  et  ipraesiMum"          3°3 


to  such  quiet  demonstrations  of  affection, 
put  her  hand  in  her  sister's  and  said  ; 
' '  Pauline,  you  are  a  good  deal  of  a  dear  ! ' ' 
and  there  was  a  certain  bright  sweetness 
in  the  young  girl's  face  that  caused  Pau 
line  to  think  of  the  dawn,  and  of  what  a 
perfect  hour  it  was,— and  that  there  was 
never  any  hurry  about  the  sunrise. 

They  spent  an  hour,  catalogue  in  hand, 
among  the  less  important  pictures,  while 
Uncle  Dan  amused  himself  with  some 
old  engravings,  and  then,  having  earned 
their  reward,  the  two  girls  strolled  back 
to  the  great  saloons,  where  nothing  less 
splendid  than  Tintoretto  and  Veronese 
makes  its  appeal  to  the  conscience  of  the 
sight-seer. 

Pauline  descended  the  steps  to  the  main 
entrance-hall,  from  which  one  has  the  best 
view  of  Titian's  "Assumption."  She 
seated  herself  on  the  broad  divan,  and 
looked  up  through  the  arched  doorway 
to  the  glorious  soaring  figure,  that  seems, 
not  upborne  by  the  floating  cloud  of 
cherubs  and  angels,  but  rather  drawing 


304  21  Venetian  $une 


all  that  buoyant  throng  upward  in  its 
marvellous  flight.  Geoffry  Daymond, 
pausing  at  the  top  of  the  short  flight  of 
steps  a  few  minutes  later,  face  to  face 
with  Pauline,  fancied  that  he  discovered 
a  subtle  kinship  between  her  counte 
nance  and  the  pictured  one  ;  and  then, 
as  he  turned  to  compare  them,  he  un 
hesitatingly  gave  his  preference  to  the 
girl  of  the  nineteenth  century,  with  the 
rare,  sylvan  face  and  the  uplifted  look. 
As  she  became  aware  of  his  approach  a 
lovely  color  stole  into  her  face,  and  there 
was  a  welcome  in  her  eyes  which  she  was 
too  sincere  to  deny. 

"  We  wondered  whether  we  should 
find  you  here  this  rainy  morning,"  she 
said,  as  he  came  toward  her  down  the 
steps  ;  and  she  spoke  with  such  quiet 
composure  that  a  sudden  leaping  emo 
tion  that  had  stirred  him  was  checked 
mid- way. 

*'I  was  looking  for  you,"  he  replied. 
'  *  We  came  across  the  Colonel  and  he 
told  us  you  were  here." 


"  2>ecu0  et  jfrraestoium  "          305 


"We  always  come  here  when  it  rains, 
because  the  light  is  so  good,"  Pauline 
observed,  wondering  that  she  could  think 
of  nothing  better  to  say. 

"Yes;  I  know  it.  I  passed  your 
sister  just  now,  standing  with  her  back 
to  the  world  at  large,  studying  a  Tinto 
retto  portrait." 

"  May  really  understands  a  good  deal 
about  pictures,"  Pauline  remarked,  still 
wondering  that  nothing  but  platitudes 
would  come  to  her  lips.  She  had  left 
her  seat,  and  they  were  moving  toward 
the  steps. 

"It  seems  an  age  since  I  have  seen 
you,"  said  Geof,  neglecting  to  reply  to 
her  last  observation,  which,  truth  to  tell, 
he  had  scarcely  heard. 

"  It  does  seem  a  good  while,"  she  ad 
mitted.  "  Not  since  Quattro  Fontane  ;  " 
and  then  she  laughed.  "  That  was  only 
yesterday  morning,  but  one  doesn't 
reckon  time  by  clocks  and  calendars  in 
Venice." 

"  If  the   clocks   and   calendars   would 


306  B  IDenetian  5une 


only  pay  the  old  gentleman  as  little 
attention  as  we  do,"  Geof  rejoined,  "  how 
lucky  we  should  be  !  " 

"I  wonder  whether  we  should  really 
want  time  to  stand  still, — even  in  Ven 
ice,"  said  Pauline,  as  they  passed  up  the 
steps  into  the  room  where  May  had  last 
been  seen. 

"That  would  depend,"  Geoffry  an 
swered,  and  there  was  that  indescribable 
something  in  his  voice  which  she  had 
heard  more  than  once  of  late,  and  which 
she  always  found  extremely  discompos 
ing.  The  passing  of  that  breath  of  feel 
ing  was  still  troubling  the  waters  of  her 
consciousness  when,  a  moment  later, 
they  were  met  by  the  other  three. 

Mrs.  Daymond  came  forward  and  took 
both  Pauline's  hands,  and,  straightway 
it  seemed  to  Pauline  as  if  a  bountiful 
beneficent  power  had  encompassed  her 
round  about. 

"Geof,"  said  his  mother,  turning  to 
him,  with  the  unfailing  grace  of  tone  and 
gesture  which  was  a  source  of  perennial 


"Becus  et  ipraestMum  "          307 


delight  to  the  Colonel;  "I  find  that 
Colonel  Steele's  Venetian  education  is 
only  half  accomplished.  He  does  not 
know  San  Simeone.  Supposing  we  all 
go  and  see  the  old  hero.  It  has  stopped 
raining  and  the  men  must  be  longing  to 
have  us  come  out  again." 

"I'm  always  ready  for  St.  Simon," 
Geof  declared. 

"  I  don't  see  how  we  ever  overlooked 
him  in  the  books,"  said  May.  "He 
sounds  perfectly  tremendous,  with  his 
hollow  cheeks  and  his  solemn  dead  face." 

"Then  we  are  all  going?"  and  Mrs. 
Daymond  looked  questioningly  at  Pau 
line  who  had  not  spoken.  It  was  as  if 
the  elder  woman  had  divined  something 
of  the  unwonted  reluctance  that  had 
possessed  itself  of  the  young  girl. 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  stay  behind?" 
Pauline  asked,  hesitatingly  ;  "  I  should 
like  to  stay  on  here  for  a  little  while, 
and  then  I  should  be  glad  of  the  walk 
home.  So  please  take  both  the  gon 
dolas." 


308  B  IDenettan  3une 


"  Polly  doesn't  like  sharp  contrasts," 
the  Colonel  remarked,  as  he  passed,  with 
the  others,  out  of  the  gallery  and  down 
the  stairs.  ' '  She  has  probably  got  her 
mind  going  on  some  little  private  inspi 
ration,  and  she  doesn't  take  to  the  idea 
of  a  dead  saint." 

"  No  more  do  I  !  "  Geof  announced, 
with  a  reckless  inconsistency,  that  took 
no  thought  of  appearances  ;  and,  having 
seen  the  party  safely  ensconced  under  the 
felze  of  Pietro's  gondola,  he  retraced  his 
steps,  his  head  slightly  bent,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  him. 

The  rain  had  ceased,  and  a  timid  re 
lenting  had  stolen  into  the  West.  Geof 
turned  and  glanced  from  the  sky  to  Vit- 
torio's  gondola  which  still  lay  moored 
under  the  shelter  of  the  bridge. 

"  If  I  only  dared  !  "  he  said  to  him 
self;  and  then,  flinging  his  head  back, 
with  a  free,  boyish  gesture,  he  strode  on 
to  the  entrance  of  the  gallery. 

Pauline  had  returned  to  her  seat  before 
the  great  Titian.  She  was  the  only  per- 


•'  2>ecus  et  ipraesiDium  "          309 


son  in  the  room  at  the  moment.  Geof 
came  across  the  stone  floor  with  a  ring 
ing  step  which  caused  her  to  turn,  in 
startled  certainty  that  it  was  he.  There 
was  something  in  the  manner  of  his 
approach  that  affected  her  like  a  sum 
mons,  and  she  rose  to  her  feet. 

He  came  up  to  her  and,  looking  straight 
into  her  face,  he  said  :  "  You  must  come 
out.  The  sun  will  be  out  before  we 
know  it,  and  one  always  wants  to  be 
out-of-doors  when,  it  clears." 

"  Are  the  others  waiting  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No  ;  Pietro  has  taken  them  off.  But 
I  think  you  are  right ;  St.  Simon  is  not 
what  we  want  this  morning.  Supposing 
we  make  a  call  upon  the  Rezzonico 
Madonna." 

"But  I  was  going  to  walk  home," 
Pauline  demurred,  quite  sensible  of  her 
own  futility. 

' '  You  can' t.  It '  s  really  very  wet.  Do 
come  and  take  a  look  at  the  Madonna." 

She  turned,  with  neither  protest  nor 
assent,  and  walked  with  him  down  the 


310  B  Denetlan  3une 

room.  She  felt  that  she  had  relaxed 
her  hold  upon  herself.  What  was  it  she 
was  yielding  to?  Something  imperative 
and  masterful  in  him,  or  something  still 
more  masterful  and  imperative  in  her 
own  soul?  She  did  not  know,  she  did 
not  consider.  She  walked  with  him  down 
the  stairs,  and  out  into  the  outer  world, 
and  she  knew  that  she  would  have  walked 
with  him  across  the  very  waters  of  the 
Canal  with  the  unquestioning  faith  of  the 
pious  little  princess  whom  legend  carries 
over  dry-shod  to  her  prayers. 

Pauline  spoke  only  once,  and  that  was 
when  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  gondola  com 
ing  to  meet  them. 

"  The  fclze !  "  she  exclaimed,  under 
her  breath.  If  Geof  heard  her,  he  was 
too  wise  to  admit  that  he  did. 

"  To  the  Madonna  of  the  Palazzo  Rez- 
zonico,"  he  commanded,  quite  as  if  Vit- 
torio  had  been  his  own  gondolier.  It 
crossed  his  mind  that  he  ought  to  apolo 
gize  for  his  presumption,  but  he  was  not 
in  the  mood  for  apologies. 


"2>ecus  ct  iprae6iC>ium  "          311 

The  fdze  was  arranged  for  three,  the 
little  box-seats  taken  out,  and  the  chair 
in  place  of  them  ;  Geof  took  the  chair. 
And  Vittorio  rowed  them  swiftly  with 
the  tide,  up  the  Canal,  past  the  tiny 
striped  church  of  San  Vio,  to  which  the 
pious  little  princess  crosses,  in  the  pretty 
legend,  and  on,  to  the  stern  and  massive 
Palazzo  Rezzonico.  The  gondola  turned 
down  the  narrow  rio  that  flows  beneath 
the  poet's  memorial  tablet,  and  a  few 
strokes  of  the  oar  brought  them  to  the 
feet  of  the  Madonna. 

Geoffry  and  Pauline  stepped  out  of  the 
felse  and  stood  looking  up  at  the  lovely 
figure  in  its  flowing  garments,  with  hands 
clasped  upon  the  breast,  and  head  bowed 
beneath  its  floating  aureole  of  stars. 
Vittorio,  too,  stood  with  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  benignant  face,  and  perhaps  an 
ave  in  his  heart  if  not  on  his  lips. 

Presently  Pauline  said,    softly:    "You 
were  right." 

"  I  was  sure  you  would  think  so.     It 's 
only  once   in   a   while   that   one   knows 


312  B  Denetian  Suite 

exactly  what  is  good  for  one  ;  but  then,— 
one  knows  !  ' ' 

"Did  you  ever  notice  the  inscription 
on  the  pedestal  ?  "  he  asked,  after  a  mo 
ment.  ' '  Hardly  anybody  ever  does. ' ' 

"Yes;  Decus  ct  praesidium"  Pauline 
read. 

"For  grace  and  protection,"  Geoffry 
translated,  "  Isn't  that  pretty  ?  " 

They  went  inside  the  felze  again,  with 
out  giving  any  directions  to  the  gondolier, 
and  Vittorio,  delightedly  equal  to  the 
occasion,  rowed  on,  through  intricate, 
winding  ways,  with  many  a  challenging 
sta-i !  and  premi-o  !  and  out  across  the 
Giudecca  Canal.  Neither  Geoffry  nor 
Pauline  was  disposed  to  talk,  yet  neither 
of  them  felt  the  silence  oppressive.  After 
a  while  they  found  themselves  floating  far 
out  on  the  lagoon  beyond  San  Giorgio. 
The  steady  pulse  of  the  oar  went  on,  and 
the  light  grew  in  sky  and  water. 

"See  how  clear  the  Kuganean  hills 
are,"  Pauline  said,  looking  out  through 
the  little  window  to  those  deep-blue  pyra- 


44  Becus  ct  ipraestoium  "          313 

mids,    rising   beyond    the   wide,    opaline 
waters. 

Geof,  who  was  again  sitting  in  the  little 
chair,  came  down  on  one  knee,  to  bring 
his  eyes  on  a  level  with  the  window,  and, 
steadying  himself  with  his  hand  on  the 
tufted  cord,  looked  forth  and  saw  the  first 
ray  of  sunlight  break  through  the  clouds 
and  gild  the  waiting  waters.  And  then 
he  turned  from  that  glistening  light  and 
looked  into  Pauline's  face. 

The  gathering  brightness  of  the  world 
outside  seemed  only  to  deepen  the  shadow 
and  the  sheltering  privacy  of  the  low, 
arching  roof  above  their  heads  ;  the  rhyth 
mic  throb  of  the  oar  seemed  to  grow 
stronger  and  more  imperative  ;  the  onward 
impulse  of  it  seized  and  mastered  him. 
He  had  meant  to  say  so  many  things,  to 
urge  so  many  reasons,  to  make  such  hum 
ble  entreaties.  But,  looking  into  that 
tender,  gracious  face,  one  thought  alone 
possessed  him,  and  lie  only  said  :  "  Pau 
line,  I  love  you  !  ' ' 

Then  a  wonderful  light  came  into  the 


3H  S  Venetian  3une 

face  he  loved,  and  she  answered,  as  simply 
as  a  little  child  :   "  I  know  it,  Geoffry  !  " 

"It  seems  as  if  the  lagoons  belonged 
to  them,  this  evening,  eh,  Polly?  " 

Uncle  Dan  and  May  were  standing  in 
the  balcony,  watching  the  receding  gon 
dola.  The  stars  were  shining  clear  and 
high, — the  lagoon  would  be  strewn  with 
them.  Far  away  on  the  horizon,  May 
could  see  a  revolving  light,  coming  and 
going,  coming  and  going.  She  longed  to 
be  out. 

"  There  's  the  Grand  Canal,"  she  sug 
gested,  modestly. 

"  Yes  ;  there  's  the  Grand  Canal.  But, 
Polly,  what  do  you  say  to  making  a  call 
on  the  Signora  ?  " 

May  turned  her  bright  eyes  to  those  of 
the  old  soldier,  that  gleamed  question- 
ingly,  almost  entreatingly,  under  the 
grizzly  eye-brows. 

"  That  would  be  very  nice,"  she  said, 
suppressing  a  little  sigh  of  resignation. 

"  Good     girl  !  "     cried     the     Colonel, 


2>ecus  et  praesifctum"          315 


"  And,  look  here,  Polly,  perhaps  it 's  you 
who  are  to  be  the  support  of  my  old  age, 
after  all.  Who  knows?''  and  he  cast  a 
glance,  half  humorous,  half  reproachful, 
in  the  direction  in  which  the  gondola  had 
disappeared.  He  was  not  yet  quite  recon 
ciled  to  the  trick  fate  had  played  him. 

Then  May  slipped  her  hand  inside  his 
arm,  in  her  own  confiding  way,  and,  look 
ing  affectionately  into  the  seamed  and 
seared  old  face,  she  said,  with  roguish 
sweetness  :  "  I  tell  you  what,  Uncle  Dan  ! 
We  shall  have  to  grow  old  together,  you 
and  I!" 

THE    END. 


3H  S  Venetian  3unc 

face  he  loved,  and  she  answered,  as  simply 
as  a  little  child  :   "  I  know  it,  Geoffry  !  " 

"It  seems  as  if  the  lagoons  belonged 
to  them,  this  evening,  eh,  Polly?  " 

Uncle  Dan  and  May  were  standing  in 
the  balcony,  watching  the  receding  gon 
dola.  The  stars  were  shining  clear  and 
high, — the  lagoon  would  be  strewn  with 
them.  Far  away  on  the  horizon,  May 
could  see  a  revolving  light,  coming  and 
going,  coming  and  going.  She  longed  to 
be  out. 

"  There  's  the  Grand  Canal,"  she  sug 
gested,  modestly. 

"  Yes  ;  there  's  the  Grand  Canal.  But, 
Polly,  what  do  you  say  to  making  a  call 
on  the  Signora  ?  " 

May  turned  her  bright  eyes  to  those  of 
the  old  soldier,  that  gleamed  question- 
ingly,  almost  entreatingly,  under  the 
grizzly  eye-brows. 

"  That  would  be  very  nice,"  she  said, 
suppressing  a  little  sigh  of  resignation. 

"  Good     girl  !  "     cried     the     Colonel. 


Decus  et  praesiDium"          315 


"  And,  look  here,  Polly,  perhaps  it 's  you 
who  are  to  be  the  support  of  my  old  age, 
after  all.  Who  knows  ?  ' '  and  he  cast  a 
glance,  half  humorous,  half  reproachful, 
in  the  direction  in  which  the  gondola  had 
disappeared.  He  was  not  yet  quite  recon 
ciled  to  the  trick  fate  had  played  him. 

Then  May  slipped  her  hand  inside  his 
arm,  in  her  own  confiding  way,  and,  look 
ing  affectionately  into  the  seamed  and 
seared  old  face,  she  said,  with  roguish 
sweetness  :  "  I  tell  you  what,  Uncle  Dan  ! 
We  shall  have  to  grow  old  together,  you 
and  I!" 

THE:  END. 


Stories  of  College  Stifc 

THE  UNIVERSITY  SERIES 

I.  Harvard  Stories. — Sketches  of   the  Undergradu 
ate.     By    W.    K.    POST.     Fourth    edition.     I2mo, 
paper,  50  cts.  ;  cloth     .....     $1.00 
"Mr.  Post's  manner  of  telling  the^e  tales  is  in  its  way  inimi 
table.     The  atmosphere  of  the  book  in  its  relation  to  the  localities 
where  the  scenes  are  laid  is  well-nigh  perfect.     The  different 
types  of  undergraduates  are  clearly  drawn,  and  there  is  a  dramatic 
element  in  most  of  the  stories  that  is   very   welcome.     It  goes 
without  saying  that  Harvard  men  will  find  keen  pleasure  in  th:s 
volume,  while  for  those  who  desire  a  faithful  picture  of  certain 
phases  of  American  student  life  it  offers  a  noteworthy  fund  of 
instruction  and  entertainment." — Literary  News. 

"  Not  since  the  days  of  Hammersmith  have  we  had  such  a 
vivid  picture  of  college  life  as  Mr.  W.  K.  Post  has  given  us  in 
this  book.  Unpretentious  in  their  style,  the  stories  are  merj 
sketches,  yet  withal  the  tone  is  so  genuine,  the  local  color  so 
truly  '  crimson,'  as  to  make  the  book  one  of  unfailing  interest.' 
— Literary  World, 

II.  Yale   Yarns.— By     J.     S.     WOOD.     Illustrated. 

12° $1-00 

"  This  delightful  little  book  will  be  re^d  with  intense  interest 
by  all  Yale  men."— New  Haven  Eve.  Leader. 

"  The  Yale  atmosphere  is  wonderfully  reproduced  in  some 
of  the  sketches,  and  very  realistic  pictures  are  drawn,  particularly 
of  the  old  '  fence  '  and  the  '  old  brick  row.' " — Boston  Time.;. 
"College  days  are  regarded  by  most  educated  men  as  the 
cream  of  their  lives,  sweet  with  excellent  flavor.  They  _are 
not  dull  and  tame  even,  to  the  most  devoted  student,  and  this  is^'i 
volume  filled  with  the  pure  cream  of  such  existence,  and  many  'a 
college  joke  to  cure  the  dumps  '  is  given.  It  is  a  bright,  realistic 
picture  of  college  life,  told  in  an  easy  conversational,  or  descrip 
tive  style,  and  cannot  fail  to  genuinely  interest  the  reader  who  has 
the  slightest  appreciation  of  humor.  The  volume  is  illustrated 
and  is  just  the  book  for  an  idle  or  a  lonely  hour." — Los  Angeles 
Times. 

The    Babe,    B.A.     The    Uneventful    History    of    a 
Young   Gentleman   in    Cambridge    University.       By 
EDWARD  F.  BENSON,  author  of  "  Dodo,"  etc. 
Illustrated  12°.     (In  Press.) 

A   Princetonian.     A  Story  of  Undergraduate  Life  at 
the  College  of  New  Jersey.     By  JAMES  BARNES. 
Illustrated  12°.      fin  Press.} 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 


THE   HUDSON  LIBRARY 

Published  Monthly.     Registered  as  Second-  Class  Matter 
16°,  paper,  each  50  cts.        Subscription  per  year,  $6.00 

_  The  volumes  are  also  issued  in  cloth.  See  separate 
list  of  fiction  sent  on  application. 

I.  Love  and  Shawl-straps.     By  ANNETTE  LUCILE 
NOBLE. 

"Decidedly  a  success."— Boston  Herald. 

II.  Miss  Kurd  :  An  Enigma.     By  ANNA  KATHA 
RINE  GREEN. 

"  Miss  Kurd  fulfils  one's  anticipations  from  start  to  finish  She 
keeps  you  in  a  state  of  suspense  which  is  positively  fascinating-  " 
— Kansas  Times. 

III.  How  Thankful  was  Bewitched.     By  T    K 

^HOSMER. 

,."  A  picturesque  romance  charmingly  told.  The  interest  is  both 
historical  and  poetic."— Independent. 

IV.  A  Woman  of  Impulse.     By  JUSTIN  HUNTLEY 
^MCCARTHY. 

"  It  is  a  book  well  worth  reading,  charmingly  written  and  con 
taining  a  most  interesting  collection  of  characters  that  are  just 
like  life."— Chicago  Journal. 

V.^    Countess  Bettina.     By  CLINTON  Ross. 

"  The  reader  eagerly  reads  from  page  to  page  to  see  what  is 
coming  next.  There  is  a  charm  in  stories  of  this  kind,  free  from 
sentimentality,  and  written  only  to  entertain."—  Boston  Times. 

VI.  Her   Majesty.     A   Romance   of    To-Day.     By 
ELIZABETH  KNIGHT  TOMPKINS. 

•  J",Pr?ch'"  writinS  in  Life^  says  of  it:  "'Her  Majesty'  is  an 
idyllic  love  story  of  a  young  queen,  who  is  altogether  a  very  fas 
cinating  personage,  a  most  humane,  lovable  woman,  and  as  the 
young  Englishman  who  met  her  said,  '  the  jolliest  girl  I  ever 
knew.  It  is  written  with  a  charming  style,  with  grace  and  ease 
and  very  pretty  unexpected  turns  of  expression. 

VII.  God    Forsaken.     A    Novel.     By    FREDERIC 
BRETON,    author   of    "A   Heroine    in    Homespun" 
etc. 

"A  very  clever  book.  .  .  .  The  characters  are  well  and 
firmly  drawn  and  true  to  life  ;  the  descriptions  are  very  good  and 
charming  in  the  extreme." — Liverpool  Mercury. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


THE   HUDSON   LIBRARY 

VIII.  An  Island  Princess.     The  Story  of  Six  Weeks 
and  Afterwards.     By  THEODORE  GIFT. 

"  A  charming  and  brilliant  \S&t"—Lit*rary  World. 

IX.  Elizabeth's  Pretenders.    A  Novel.     By  HAM 
ILTON  AIDE,  author  of  "  Rita,"  "  Poet  and  Peer," 
"  A  Voyage  of  Discovery,"  etc. 

"  Here  is  a  novel  of  character,  of  uncommon  power  and  interest, 
wholesome,  humorous,  and  sensible  in  every  chapter."— Book 
man. 

X.  At  Tuxter's.     By  G.  B.  BURGIN. 

"  A  very  interesting  story.  .  .  .  The  story  must  be  read  ; 
it  will  amply  repay  the  time  spent  upon  it.  The  characters  are 
particularly  well  drawn.  .  .  .  This  is  one  of  the  most  read 
able  of  the  many  novels  that  have  passed  through  our  hands." — 
Boston  Times, 

XI.  At  Cherryfield  Hall.    An  Episode  in  the  Career 
of  an  Adventuress.     By  FREDERIC  HENRY  BALFOUR 
(Ross   George   Dering),    author   of    "  Dr.    Mirabel's 
Theory,"  "  Geraldi,"  etc. 

"  This  is  a  brilliantly  told  tale,  the  constructive  ingenuity  and 
literary  excellence  of  which  entitle  the  author  to  a  place  of  honor 
in  the  foremost  rank  of  contemporary  English  romancists." — 
London  Daily  Telegraph. 

XII.  The  Crime  of  the  Century.     By  RODRIGUES 
OTTOLENGUI,  author  of  "  An  Artist  in  Crime,"  etc. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  best  told  stories  of  its  kind  we  have  read. 
It  is  ingeniously  worked  out,  and  those  who  enjoy  a  well-written 
detective  story  should  not  fail  to  read  it." — Boston  Times. 

XIII.  The    Things   that    Matter.     By    FRANCIS 
GRIBBLE,  author  of  "  The  Red  Spell,"  etc. 

"A  very  amusing  novel,  full  of  bright  satire  directed  against 
the  New  Woman,  and  similar  objects." — London  Speaker. 

XIV.  The  Heart  of  Life.     By  W.  II.  MALLOCK, 
author  of  "  A  Romance  of  the  Nineteenth  Century," 
etc. 

41  Interesting,  sometimes  tender,  and  uniformly  brilliant.  .  .  . 
People  will  read  Mr.  Mallock's  '  Heart  of  Life,'  for  the  extra 
ordinary  brilliance  and  cleverness  with  which  he  tells  his  story." — 
Daily  Telegraph. 

XV.  The  Broken  Ring.     By  ELIZABETH  KNIGHT 
TOMPKINS,  author  of  "Her  Majesty,"  "An  Unles- 
soned  Girl,"  etc.  t 

Other  volumes  by  well  known  authors  to  follow. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


tTbree  IFlotable  $oofcs 

The  Red  Republic.  A  Romance  of  the  Commune. 
By  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS,  author  of  "  The  King  in 
Yellow,  etc.  Second  Edition.  Large  12°,  $1.25. 

"With  all  its  rush  and  excitement  there  is  a  solid  basis  of  pains- 
taking  and  thoughtfulness  in  l  The  Red  Republic.'  Mr.  Chamber- 
is  wholly  free  from  self-consciousness  ;  indeed  his  gifts  seem  to  be 
little  short  of  genius.  Wonderfully  vivid  and  graphic."— A'.  Y. 

"  Mr.  Chambers  shows  great  familiarity  with  the  many  dreadful 
£a^S£  IV  and,  Mr- Thiers'  policy  is  critically  examined.  '  The 
Red  Republic  abounds  in  action."— A\  Y.  Times 
T,  V  T  M  R£i  Re,Public  '  has  the  healthy  ring  of  a  young  man's 
book  Mr.  Chambers  can  do  what  few  men  can  do,  he  can  tell  a 
story."— N.  Y.  Journal. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  one  need  hesitate  to  call  '  The  Red  Re 
public  the  best  American  novel  of  the  year."— VANCE  THOMPSON 
in  J\ .  Y.  Morning  Advertiser. 

t"  The  book  will  commend  itself  not  only  for  its  strength  and 
vividness,  but  for  imagination  and  fancy.  .  .  .  Glow  with 

fentle  beauty  and  romance,  putting  in  striking  contrast  the  bar- 
anty  of  war."— DROCH  in  N.  Y.  Life. 

A  King  and  a  Few  Dukes.  A  Romance.  By 
ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS,  author  of  "  The  Red  Re 
public."  Large  12°,  $1.25. 

"  No  superior  fiction  has  appeared  in  months.  .  .  .  It  is  a 
charming  love  story,  attractively  told  in  a  way  that  is  essentially 
Mr.  Chambers'  own."— N.  Y.  Times. 

"  A  more  charming,  wholly  delightful  story,  it  would  be  difficult 
to  name  in  the  whole  range  of  English  fiction.  That  is  saying 
much,  but  not  one  bit  more  than  the  book  deserves.  .  .  .  The 
characters  are  wonderfully  well  drawn."— N.  Y.  World. 

"  This  latest  of  Mr.  Chambers'  stones  is  written  in  a  very 
charming  manner,  and  with  all  the  grace  and  finish  that  have 
made  the  writings  of  the  author  so  popular  during  the  past  "  — 
Albany  Union. 

The  Maker  of  Moons.  By  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS. 
Large  12°.  (In  Press.) 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


tTbree  IRotable 

The  Red  Republic.  A  Romance  of  the  Commune. 
By  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS,  author  of  "  The  King  in 
Yellow,  etc.  Second  Edition.  Large  12°,  $1.25. 

"With  all  its  rush  and  excitement  there  is  a  solid  basis  of  pains 
taking  and  thoughtf  ulness  in  l  The  Red  Republic.'  Mr.  Chamber- 
is  wholly  free  from  self-consciousness  ;  indeed  his  gifts  seem  to  be 
little  short  of  genius.  Wonderfully  vivid  and  graphic."— N  Y 


Press. 


Mr.  Chambers  shows  great  familiarity  with  the  many  dr 
days  of  1871  and  Mr.  Thiers'  policy  is  critically  examined. 
Red  Republic  'abounds  in  action."— N.  Y.  Times 


my  dreadful 
lined.    '  The 

I,  'YTfeR£iR<TUblic'  hast^e  heaitYy'riVoTa  young  man's 
book  Mr.  Chambers  can  do  what  few  men  can  do,  he  can  tell  a 
story."— N.  Y.  Journal. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  one  need  hesitate  to  call  '  The  Red  Re 
public  the  best  American  novel  of  the  year."— VANCK  THOMPSON 
in  TV.  Y.  Morning  Advertiser. 

/'The  book  will  commend  itself  not  only  for  its  strength  and 
vividness,  but  for  imagination   and  fancy.     .     .     .     Glow   with 
?  in 
ife 


fentle  beauty  and  romance,  putting  in  striking  contrast  the  bar- 
arity  of  war."— DROCH  in  N.  Y.  Life. 


A  King  and  a  Few  Dukes.  A  Romance.  By 
ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS,  author  of  "  The  Red  Re 
public."  Large  12°,  $1.25. 

"  No  superior  fiction  has  appeared  in  months.  .  .  .  It  is  a 
charming  love  story,  attractively  told  in  a  way  that  is  essentially 
Mr.  Chambers'  own."— N.  Y.  Times. 

"  A  more  charming,  wholly  delightful  story,  it  would  be  difficult 
to  name  in  the  whole  range  of  English  fiction.  That  is  saying 
much,  but  not  one  bit  more  than  the  book  deserves.  .  .  .  The 
characters  are  wonderfully  well  drawn."— N.  Y.  World. 

"This  latest  of  Mr.  Chambers'  stones  is  written  in  a  very 
charming  manner,  and  with  all  the  grace  and  finish  that  have 
made  the  writings  of  the  author  so  popular  during  the  past  "  — 
Albany  Union. 

The  Maker  of  Moons.  By  ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS. 
Large  12°.  (In  Press.) 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS,  NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW 

AN  INITIAL  FINE  OP  25  CENTS 

WILL  BE  ASSESSED  FOR  FAILURE  TO  RETURN 
THIS  BOOK  ON  THE  DATE  DUE.  THE  PENALTY 
WILL  INCREASE  TO  SO  CENTS  ON  THE  FOURTH 
DAY  AND  TO  $1.OO  ON  THE  SEVENTH  DAY 
OVERDUE. 


272559 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


